I'm nuts about your porrige
I'm nuts about your oats
I'm nuts about your porrige
it goes down the best of throats
R Mayall and daughter
Pimhill, is the farm
Harmer Hill in Shropshire
Where all around is calm

You take a pan of water
Spring water yes my dears
Pour in Pimhill's porrige
I know, hold back them tears
The creamy soft consistency
Will get to you.... I know
You cannot wait to down a bowl
For here those oats do grow

Out there on the rich soil
They dance there in the breeze
Pulling out the vitamins
And minerals with ease
On mornings when jack Frost
has worked his mischief over night
Thats when I love those Pimhill oats

I'm the lad from Cooks Delight

(You can also sing it to the irish melody
McGinty's goat if you know it)

I've been here in Berkhamsted 30 years and I see your farm has been there 60 years well Good luck to yer and I shall put this poem on the world wide web now so the world can see what you do and I shall call it Pimhill so it may get picked up by the search engines