Ode to Biscuits is an imaginative and creative site dedicated solely to one of the worlds favorite foods, the biscuit. Inspiration for this site arrived during a camping trip with my friends. The trip's theme was cooking and cook we did. Sitting around the campfire while others were baking food, we thought of how much we wanted those biscuits that were cooking in the dutch oven. One of my good friends broke out into the "Traditional Folk Song" which is the basis for all future songs. While sitting around the fire, we were taken in by the biscuit's glory and decided to write songs for them.
We prepared a variety of songs relating to biscuits to the tune of a variety of famous tunes. These tunes were arranged throughout our campfire to provide a wonderful, "biscuit" themed campfire. Most went over well and at least got a few laughs.
Sitting around the campfire again after the "formal" planned campout broke up, we asked ourselves, "What can I do with a whole bunch of songs about biscuits?" The answer was, "I know! Put them on the 'net. Maybe we could start a cult following or something!" So the idea was put in action and here is Ode to Biscuits.
Now for some examples:
Biscuits, in the morning.
Biscuits, in the afternoon
I like eatin' biscuits
While I sing my biscuit tune.
I need biscuit baby right now
Gotta have my biscuits
Gotta have my biscuits to-night
A long, long time ago I can still remember how those biscuits used to make
me smile and I knew if I had my chance that I could make those biscuits and
maybe I'd be happy for a while. But February made me shiver with every
biscuit they delivered, good news on the door step, I could always take one
more step, I can't remember if I cried when I read about Baker who died but
something touched me deep inside, the day, the Biscuit maker died, died.
Bye, bye Biscuit maker guy, made his biscuits kinda heavy and they always was high an them good ol' boys were eating biscuits of rye singin if this'll be the day that they're dry, then this'll be the day that I'll die. Did you write the recipe of love and do you have faith in God above, to bake them biscuits so, and do you believe in biscuits n' rolls, can they save your mortal soul and can you teach me how to bake em real slow? Well I know that you're in love with him cuz I saw you bakin them with him, you both threw off your shoes and I love those biscuits and blues. I was a lonely teenage cookin punk with a white apron and a pick up truck but I knew I was out of luck, the day, the biscuit maker, died. I started singin...
Now for ten years, we've been on our own and biscuits grow fat on a bakin' stone, but that's not how it used to be. When the jester cooked for the king and queen in an apron he borrowed from Auntie Jean and a taste that came to you and me. Oh and while the king was looking down, the jester burned his biscuits a thorny brown the courtroom was adjourned, no biscuits were returned, and while the jester wrote a book on Tarts, the maker colapsed in the dark and we sang dirges in the park, the day, the biscuit maker, died. We were singin...
Helter Skelter in the oven's swelter the biscuits baked in the a fallout
shelter, eight inches high and fallin fast, until it fell flat on the glass
the baker tried for a forward pass with the jester on the sidelines in a
cast, now the half-time air was sweet perfume while the baker made his biscuits to a baking tune. We all got up to eat oh but we never got the chance. oh as the jester tried to take the field the baker refused to yield do you recall what was cooked, the day, the biscuit maker died, died. We started singin...
Oh and there we were all in one space, a generation in one cooking place with no time left to start again, so come on, Jack be nimble, Jack be quick, Jack Flash sat on a bread stick, because biscuits are the devils only friend. Oh and as I watched him cooking on the stage, my eyes were squinted in slits of rage, no angel born in hell could break those Biscuit's smell and as the fumes climbed high into the night to light away from the oven's light. I saw the jester laughing with delight, the day, the biscuit maker, died. He was singin...
I met a girl who made some rolls and I asked her for some happy news but she just smiled and turned away. I went down to the sacred store where I'd seen the biscuits years before but the man there said the biscuits wouldn't be made. And in the streets the children screamed, the lovers cried, and the poets dreamed but not a word was spoken, the biscuit trucks all were broken. And the three men I admire most, the Father, Son, and the Holy Ghost, they made the last biscuits into toast, the day, the biscuit maker, died, and they were singin...
They were singin... Bye, bye Biscuit maker guy, made his biscuits kinda heavy and they always was high an them good ol' boys were eating biscuits of rye singin if this'll be the day that they're dry, then this'll be the day that I'll die.
I like Biscuits, I like biscuits
With my lunch, or for brunch
They good with butter, or with ham
Or with jam, Or with jam
Biscuit, biscuit we adore thee
You are good with good with bread or meat
You are so scrumptious we can't resist your heavenly brown
Why do we stay up all night thinking of you when we should be down?