I like baked potatoes,
and lettuce and tomatoes.
But I don’t like tornadoes,
unless they go to Oz.
Those munchkins are delicious,
and flying monkeys vicious,
the wicked witch pernicious.
She’s got that ugly schnoz.
In Kansas there are sisters
who pray for coming twisters.
Their god is like a wizard
behind his golden veils.
They all wear ruby slippers.
Their hymns are like woodchippers.
The words are all "I’m melting!"
There’s holy water pails.
Religion’s like a water spout,
tends to scare the most devout.
Better worship baked potatoes,
in the skin or out.