O little town of Cudahy,
Your Friday Fish doth fry!
In vats of grease, it does not cease,
'Til sun lights up the sky.
Yet in thy darkened taverns, the everlasting keg;
Our hopes and fears are quenched in beers,
Oh please don't make us beg.
For Eddie's there with Larry,
And Charlie's in his seat.
Just put that tap right in my lap,
I'll suck it like a teat.
And pass yon bowl of pretzels,
Some pork rinds would do fine.
All praise we sing for beer is King,
Let yuppies drink their wine.