The Cornish pasty poem

There ye sit in steeping heat 
Unique as all that went before 
Both glazed and crimped and primed to eat 
No splits or cracks surround thy core 

And through thy weather beaten skin 
Mysterious delights begin 

Oh Pasty, pasty fast but slow 
The ancient son of old Kernow 

But oh no lamb nor Cranberry 
Though tasty victuals they may be 
No carrot, corn no petty pea 
They could not enter into thee 

To bruise thy pure simplicity 
Or change thy authenticity 

Oh Pasty, pasty fast but slow 
When piping hot its best to blow 

Such beef that Cornish meadows run 
Cornish onions cut and peeled 
Turnips grown neath Cornish sun 
Potatoes grown in Cornish field 

Before we take a careful bite 
Then witness hunger pains take flight 

Oh Pasty past fast but slow 
In darkness brings the deepest glow 

But if you be not working folk 
With pick or hammer, hand in soil 
So if ye do not wear the yolk 
If ye know not honest toil 

A pasty ever in your hand 
Repeat to eat and girth will thicken 
Yet that girth may understand 
The ancient cry Kernow bis viken 

Pasty, pasty fast but slow 
Takes pride of place in old Kernow