Lyrics:

The mom-and-pop diners 'round Allentown
Don't really have much that a fella can hold down
And the folks up 'round Philly and Bethlehem
Ain't gourmet types, really, or chef-ly men
Now, they're God-fearin' folk in that Keystone State
But their food ain't fit for a collection plate
There's things for all kinds of people to hate
But there's one that everybody loves
And they call it scrapple, scrapple
Corned and steamed, and hogmeat dappled
Set by the window 'til it's cold and hard
Sliced up thick and fried in lard
Hey, what's that swimmin' in the big red pan
That's kickin' up all this mania?
It's scrapple, scrapple
The pride of Pennsylvania
Well, way down yonder by the Ford Corsair
Billy's got his hands in Betty Sue's hair
Shakin' and a-steamin' up the Roadmaster
We can see him but we can't see her
Well, Mama's in the kitchen and she might see
'Billy, better leave your sister be!'
But he jumps from the Buick to the dining room
When a-he a-gets a whiff of that pig perfume
It's scrapple, scrapple
Hearty as a t-bone, slippery as a tadpole
Any old part of the hog will do
Neck and the nipples, and the toenails too
Hey, what's that swimmin' in the big red pan
That's kickin' up all this mania?
It's scrapple, scrapple
The pride of Pennsylvania

Well, up in the pen, 'neath the big shade tree
The laziest hog you ever did see
Stiff in the joints and slow in the head
That fat boy'd be better off dead
So, grab your hammer and away we'll fly
To splatter his brains all around the sty
Then we'll be livin' in a world of dreams
Chuggin' down scrapple 'til we bust our jeans
It's scrapple, scrapple
Didn't bring a plate? Then fork you a hatful
Workin' in the field 'til the sun goes down
Grandma's whipped up 25 pounds
Hey, what's that swimmin' in the big red pan
That's kickin' up all this mania?
It's scrapple, scrapple
The pride of Pennsylvania
It's scrapple, scrapple
The pride of Pennsylvania