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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

Smick

Smack


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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