Sage of Brine

Where the gherkins and onions, and peppers convene Lives a pickle that's holy, if you know what I mean Rumour has it, when the moon's hangin' low He'd dance in the moonlight, puttin' on a show With a hat made of oak leaves, and a cane that's so fine He’d tip it to the ladies, all in a line Meet Mr. Holy Pickles, in a jar down country lane Got that crispy, tangy flavor, it's the simple life we claim Oh yeah He’s swimmin' in that brine so clear, a treasure of the town, no doubt Every fair and farmer's market, they all know what he's about Yes they do Take a crunchy bite, hear that savory sound Feel the rush of dill, it’s the best around, oh yeah From the barrels where he’s stacked with pride People journey far and wide, for a taste It’s that pickled paradise, pucker up for Mr. Pickles' delight Yes indeed In a field where cucumbers used to play One became a sage, in brine he lay Legends told at every barn and stall He’s the zestiest of them all, hear them say In his realm of jars and savory spice Mr. Holy Pickles reigns, oh so nice