When tea-time comes, and I sit down
To chew my bread-and-butter,
I love to find that, white or brown,
It savours of the gutter.

There's nothing quite so nice to munch
As bread that tastes of gutter;
I love the flavour for my lunch —
The hint of swill and clutter.

I like to think my loaf is mauled
By paws that handle money,
And then is dropped where dogs have sprawled.
In ways like that I'm funny.

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I love the smatch of quadruped,
Of grubby nails and fingers.
I like to think that on my bread
Their gentle fragrance lingers.

It pleases me to think that when
My loaf is mauled or muddied
Production costs are lower then,
And profits are being studied.

A little dirt will never hurt —
Before I'm safely dead
I'll eat a peck of it, they say —
So Please don't wrap my bread.