We’ll have hot muffins—check it to see:
The oven’s “fever” should be near 4-0-3.
Come on, taste ’em when they come from the pan,
The hot muffins, hot muffins.

You won’t have to knead this time;
We’re not making bread this time,
Honey, not makin’ dough.
Got the flour—sift fine,
Beat in some eggs. . a pinch saline,
And then we’ll stow in a few spices, just for show.

To raise it up, you give it a yeasty rendezvous—
Powder will do. Shove it in the oven, wait an hour or two.

Then try those hot muffins—best when steamy;
You’ll want to eat ’em with some fresh creamery
Butter—tasty; you’ll adore more than pan[1]
The hot muffins, hot muffins.

First we’ll eat a bite; baby, then let’s say “goodnight,”
Then another eatin’ spree.
Indulge us then in sixty-nine
Come on, girl, munchin’ time. . .dine.
Fress it like it’s hot manna,
And I’ll taste your bakery.

It’s your roll I stuff. You give me heady—
My meat balls will fluff.
Is my dining right? You will taste my luncheon for tonight.

And I’m hot muffin’—fresh and steamy
Your oven’s fever’s least a hundred and three.
Come on, taste me while I’m lubin’ your pan;
I’m hot muffin’, slot stuffin’.

Mouth will sup on you—there’s no taste of yeasty spawn that grew.
So, the more I chew, I’m glad to get a taste of doux-dough[2] streu-
del; I’m hot muffin’—bread ain’t for me;
I got some eatin’ of a luscious pastry.
Luncheon, baby, got my food in your pan.[3]
I’m hot muffin’, slot stuffin’

Hot muffin’, fressing delight,
Hot muffin’—this cookin’s just right,
Slot stuffin’—now I’m driving you wild,
Hot muffin’. . .by hot pie I’m beguiled,
Hot muffin’. . .like a vittle-clit pie,
Rod buffin’—you’re not nibble-it-shy,
Slot stuffin’—I’m making you “sing”
Hot muffin’—gorge your sweet-treat thing.


[1]bread
[2]doux: sweet
[3]face