I’m just a humble potato

A down-to-earth chap, that’s me

Though when I don my jersey or jacket,

I’ll have all the eyes on me

--

Slightly chipped round the edges,

Or blighted by russeted parts,

Even so my crisp-edged tongue

Will find the root to your heart.

--

You’ll have a smashing time with me,

I’ll treat you like a King;

Edward or Charlotte, it’s no matter,

I’ll dance you out of your skin.

--

It may be to the sound of the tuber,

Or merry pipers as they play,

New steps Ill teach you: star, chassee, turn-

We might even play croquet-

--

Tear yourself from old idea,

They drive a wedge between you and me,

For I am not some parboiled wretch,

Half-baked for all to see.

--

You may call me a common spud,

But I’m a home-grown supreme Brit.

So pick me out, with all my faults,

And let me touch your lips…