A hotdog at the ballpark has a taste that is unique;
Its blend of meat and spices is an edible mystique.
You top it off with onions that have sat for days on end
In a bowl uncovered where the hygiene is pretend.
The mustard is so rancid it has turned to turpentine;
The ketchup has fermented into syrupy red wine.
The cost is beyond reason, but there always is a queue
And when I get up to the front I'm gonna order two.
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