They use no flies.
In the hold, from bay, they've got their quarry:
Quahogs and oysters in the dory
For cioppino.

Then the shucker pries.

Cook takes the sea's bounty, with great speed,
Makes something for hungry mouths to feed
On: cioppino.

Some might says it's chum, but man
This beats chowder from a can.
It's so fresh to eat--got angry shucked clams from bay.
Gotta cook it so slowly--
The dining's heavenly.
You soak it up with fresh-baked bread;
The cook's class is "gourmet."

But a hurl churns.

'cause no one had noticed that the color rose
Stained the stew, and each of us up throws
The cioppino.

And our stomachs burn.
It's unfortunate we opened wide;
We're nourished by a meal
That's furnished with red tide,
In cioppino.

Then the shites--evacuation:
An ill wind breaks today;
We've got the runs while we barf.
This isn't fun; I've soiled my scarf.

We're butt-puckered guys.

From down south splatters out a rancid-chum clam. . .
Swear from now on I'll eat only from a can
The cioppino.

Lucked out--didn't die
Gonna hold off tasting the sea's quarry.
I have nightmares 'bout tainted John Dory
In cioppino.