I planted the spud, in the field, back in june,

Knowing, that with nourishment, it will sprout soon,

In the mud it rested, for 10 long weeks,

Getting wetter and wetter, cuz my dang sprinkler leaks,

Some say I'm foolish, and just wasting time,

But I say they're wrong, cuz I'm doing just  fine,

I can sell anything, for I’m quite the charmer,

So I decided to become, a potato farmer,

Some people ask me, “why that profession?”

But for me it's just fun, and more an obsession,

I'm getting addicted, and can't seem to stop,

On the bright side, I'm growing my favorite crop,

So here I am, selling potatoes by the the road,

When simple folk come asking, “how were these growed?”

I respond, “it was fertilized, in all natural manure”

They answer back, “that's why it smells like a sewer”

Offended, and upset, I turn to go,

For I wouldn't sell those people, not one potato.