Mainers, at meal time – it’s always mealtime, oh, what a bunch we are,

you might just catch us drinkin tap with our hand or Moxie from a Mason jar.

Moxie? It tastes like cough syrup, You won’t like it, that’s for sure,

But we chug it down, like a trophy, and some of us even ask for more.

Though I prefer milk and Coke, Just plain old Coke, we call it Moke.

Pour the Coke first! If not it will curdle, Don’t use Pepsi! It’s no joke.

Breakfast is ketchup on eggs, potatoes at every meal, and blueberry pie,

Lunch—beans in molasses, brown bread, and real dear-mincemeat Oh My!

And fiddle-heads, we’ll eat anything fresh from land, or sea,

wash it down with apple cider, unhomogenized milk, or coffee.

We’re rare souls like our corn, clam, or seafood chowder, of hearty stock,

Never late for suppah, through snow drifts, we boldly walk.

On cold nights-milk toast, (hot buttered milk, and soggy toast), sweet!

or molasses on hot biscuits, or real maple syrup, what a treat!

At any meal, Lobsters, clams, and mussels at the coastline they boast.

Or Red Flannel Hash, (red cabbage and potatoes), or nearly raw eggs on toast,

Now for table talk-some accents are thick, like our chowder so hearty,

But we rarely talk when we’re eatin with fingers, even at a party.

Maybe an “ayuh” or “wicked-good” as were lickin fingers, so quaint,

and we ain’t never done eatin, ‘cuz our teach never did break us from sayin “ain’t”.