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The Cultural Kitchen

Sweet as a rhubarb strudel

As smooth as a spaghetti noodle

Moving from rice to nice

Everybody getting up

To get seconds twice

Patching holes in our pants

Cause we were playing cops and robbers

And needed an emergency brake for the ambulance

Grills on fire

It's a beautiful day

Not much that we can say

With no cash to pay

Wait a second...

Is that Bacon?

Yes it is.

We on track

To keep eatin'

Like a pack rat



Salty fresh

Sweet scents

Of savory tastes

From the food Saints

Like perfume in a smoky room

Filling my nose

With the food I choose

To take leftovers home for the next day

To boast to those who fall short

To a mother's stove on a Sunday

Where did they go?

The Mothers.

Who cooked from the soul



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