Some of y'all never been down south too much, I'm going to tell you a little bit about this so that you understand what I'm talking about. Down there we have a plant that grows out in the woods in the fields, looks something like a turnip green. Everybody calls it pork salad. Pork salad. Used to know a girl lived down there and she'd go out in the evenings and pick her mess of it, carry it home and cook it for supper. Cause that's about all they had to eat. They did alright. Now down in Louisiana, where the alligators grow so mean, there lived a girl that swore to the world, made the alligators look tame. Pork salad, ain't it? Pork salad, ain't it? Everybody said it was a shame, cause her mama wasn't working on a chain game. A mean vicious woman. Yeah. Every day for supper time, she'd go down by the truck patch and pick her mess of pork salad and carry it home in a tow sack. Pork salad, ain't it? The gator's got your granny. Chomp, chomp, chomp. Everybody said it was a shame, cause her mama wasn't working on a chain game. A wretched, spiteful, straight razor-toed woman. Lord, I must pick my mess of it. Chomp, chomp, chomp. Ugh. Her daddy was lazy and no count, claimed he had a bad back. All her brothers were fit for stealing watermelons out of my truck patch. Pork salad, ain't it? The gator's got your granny. Chomp, chomp, chomp. Everybody said it was a shame, cause her mama wasn't working on a chain game. Sock a little pork salad to me. You know I need me a mess of it. Chomp, chomp, chomp. Good girl. Hmm, hmm, hmm, hmm, hmm. That's a hell of me. Ate her up.