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
