Written and sung by Sam Devere.
Of hash, that great mysterious dish.
Some people are afraid,
In boarding houses and bum hotels,
It's fearfully and wonderfully made.
On good old coffee made of beans.
The boarders' eyes do flash.
But what suspicion haunts the mind
When they gaze upon the hash.
It's chewed and chopped, and chawed and slivered,
And pulverized into smash,
There's nothing like a good old red hot dish
Of extra double-chewed hash.
The bell rings out the welcome call.
The breakfast board is spread;
The boarders all sit down and rub
Oleomargarine on their bread.
The clattering plates and knives and forksThere's music in their clash-
And all goes well until a boarder yells.
There's hair in this 'ere hash.-Chorus.
To make good hash, scrape off the bones,
Any old second-hand meat,
Old liver and mutton, and boot-leg steak.
That you find a little tough to eat.
Fire some potatoes and onions in.
Then at it you cut and slash.
Pound it up with an Indian club
And it comes out red-hot hash.-Chorus.