Grandma's Frog Fry

I recall my southern reared grandmother Telling how good frog legs are to eat Tastes a lot like chicken Can be quite a treat She sent me down to the farm pond To fetch some frogs to fry With gig in hand down to the pond I trod To give frogging a try With hot earth burning my bare feet I formulated my plan I gigged me some husky brutes Enough to nicely fill a pan Threw them in a tote sack Over my shoulder that old tote swung Back up the path I quickly ran Envisioning the taste upon my tongue Grandmother came to clean them up Golly, did it ever make a mess The blood and all that goo My appetite it did depress Tossed those frog legs in the hot skillet Where they began to fry The legs began to twitch and jump One from the pan it did fly Landed, still twitching, near my feet With that, out the door I flew I swear that until this very day I have not given one frog leg a chew