In the night kitchen
In the night kitchen In the night kitchen Did you ever hear of Mickey, How he heard a racket in the night and shouted: quiet down there! And fell through the dark, out of his clothes past the moon and his Mama and Papa sleeping tight Into the light of the night kitchen? Where the bakers who bake till the dawn so we can have cake in the morn mixed Mickey in batter, chanting: Milk in the batter! Milk in the batter! Stir it! Scrape it! Make it! Bake it! And they put that
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In the night kitchen
In the night kitchen
Did you ever hear of Mickey,
How he heard a racket in the night
and shouted: quiet down there!
And fell through the dark, out of his clothes
past the moon and his Mama and Papa sleeping tight
Into the light of the night kitchen?
Where the bakers who bake till the dawn
so we can have cake in the morn
mixed Mickey in batter, chanting:
Milk in the batter! Milk in the batter!
Stir it! Scrape it! Make it! Bake it!
And they put that batter up to bake a delicious Mickey-cake.
But right in the middle of the steaming and the making and the smelling and the baking
Mickey poked through and said:
I am not the milk and the milk’s not me! I am Mickey!
So he skipped from the oven and into bread dough all ready to rise in the night kitchen.
He kneaded and punched it and pounded and pulled.
Till it looked Okay.
