He was born a small white potato on a large Idaho farm.
Up from the dirt he arose under the International Tractor.
Behind the tractor was a big cart that collected the tators.
Inside the big cart, he was meeting many other little spuds.
In the processing plant, he was peeled and sliced.
He knew he was special little guy. He was chosen to be frozen.
The eighteen wheeler with a frozen trailer exited the interstate.
It entered the parking lot with the Golden Arches glowing in the night.
Out the back of the trailer came a long conveyor belt.
Direct from the trailer to the back door of the fast food restaurant.
The zero degree freezer kept everyone cold until just the right time.
Until the time when the square basket was dropped in the hot grease.
In a matter of minutes, the proud little spud was a thing of beauty
From that boiling kitchen grease there emerged a golden fry.