I hiss and spit as I hit the ground running, Slipping and sliding, I just can't get my footing back under me I'll continue to scream until you dump water over my head Or throw a bit of flour right into my face- Jeez, and they call me roux

Mostly a relic today, If you were aboard the largest of me In nineteen thirty seven, You might be climbing the stairway to heaven.

Though I look dry, I am mostly water. Tiny explosions frozen in time and forest. Drown and brown me in butter, Heat me and eat me.

I describe the movement of a gigantic rock. Never associate me with the speed of a hawk. I am best illustrated as stored away stock.

Made from juice, not solid fruit, I'm spread upon a bed of bread. If I blow your taste brain, Your legs will aptly quiver.