This is what my Dad used to say, kind of like he was casting a spell, when we as a family would get in the car to go get ice cream cones at the local dairy.
This was big deal back then in my small town.
There were no stores open 24/7. All we had were a few dairies in town, each featuring a rotating list of flavors, that sold ice cream cones, during limited hours of operation.
I never knew why he said what he said. But a fast googling tells me that this saying is part of the lyrics to a
dreadful 1920s novelty song of the same name. The stupid lyrics are whacked, making references to Alaska and Eskimos; the irritating tune is a fox trot.
How he ever came to know this song I couldn’t say. But like most of the food sayings I’ve talked about so far, they just get into your brain and never leave.