When we lived down by the creekside
I knew all the dark places there were to hide
and they could not find me if they tried
if I just had some Skedaddle Cream Pie.

Mama was making it the day she died
Aunt Bess thought it might have been suicide
but I tell you now what they all denied
she had herself a piece of Skedaddle Cream Pie.

With Mama gone, it turned the tide
for me, I got all stupefied
and dumbstruck, my tongue was so tied
I could hardly eat my Skedaddle Cream Pie.

At some odd hour, not sure when, I’d
found myself down at the creek and cried,
Hey Mama, I still need you by my side,
How come you ate Skedaddle Cream Pie?

I looked up when my tears had dried
and there was a cop! The Man had spied
me leaving home — did he decide
that I fed Mama that Skedaddle Cream Pie?

Hey son, he said, I got to wondering why’d
you run off like that?  And I replied,
Who’s asking? I was wishing deep inside
he’d go eat some Skedaddle Cream Pie.

But he brought out the cuffs, and I complied
cause fate told me I should take that ride
downtown. What choice was there, I sighed,
once you had tasted Skedaddle Cream Pie.

The cop questioned me as if I had lied
Now, son, you and I need to see eye to
eye, he said, reckoning that I would confide
to him some kind of coup de Skedaddle Cream Pie.

Not likely, I snarled to him with the kind of pride
that only Mama (or Aunt Bess) could provide.
So he made me spend that night in jail beside
some drunk who smelled like Skedaddle Cream Pie.

When morning came, the cop later testified,
my cell was empty and the drunk still red-eyed.
The cop should have known I would slip outside
cause I always skip breakfast for Skedaddle Cream Pie.