My Pots

MY POTS

(DK)   I am not throwing away my pots

I am not throwing away my pots

Hey I moved to city from country, but the family still gets hungry

and I am not throwing away my pots

Gladly kitchen equip my children, a mother’s role fulfillin,

Give to others I am willin, but why can’t I be grillin?

I’ll have no brief for cramping grief for my meat and dairy cutlery

from braising lamb n’ beef to the utterly (udderly?) buttery

(Chorus)    The scuttlebutt is unutterable, the lack of room unrebuttable,

                                The kitchen unliveably deplorable, yet she stayed unshakably lovable 
                                The place she strove mightily to kasher, from stove to fridge to dishwasher 
                                Then just watch her feed the nosher like a pasha! 
                                Once shed of mortgage, she had to forage for storage 
                                and squeeze and tease ably all into a freezer unfeasibly small 
                                The annual Passover - a virtual impasse over – 
                                Hey - success at a Seder might persuade her that the lack of space hadn't betrayed her

(DK)     Some place settings I won’t insist on, and will not reminisce on

And pass on an iron grill for the pretzel schnitzel, for mazel, for shizzle

I need a few pots and lids, more would overkill it,

Because it turns out that the skill – it resides not in the skillet

So if the question comes up, how much is two aliquots?

It’s best not to assume - measure by weight - not volume

But I am not throwing away, I am not throwing away, I am not throwing away my pots!