Reaver Titan Interior

Potato, potato, love of all loves;

potatoes, potatoes, sweet hallowed nubs.

Skinned or with peel, boiled, roasted, or fried;

potatoes carry all of Ireland's pride.

All who enjoy them I'm sure would agree;

potatoes above all foods are lovely.

To the strange critic, who scowls with contempt;

you shall not sway me with your foul attempt.

Potato, potato, I call to thee;

please come salted and rich, so buttery!

Potato, potato, I'll sing again;

potato, potato, please be my friend.