Please, lox--let them stay
And don't de-chow my day.
I love fried spuds on side,
A T-bone, cress-dressed.

Don't take my fare away;
I won't stay in a world without lunch.

Birds singed--grouse and loon,
But I'll take out my spoon.
It's OK, though flambé;
I debone then fress.

Don't take my fare away
I won't stay in a world without lunch.

I just ate, but in a while,
I'll feast on a new lunch pile.
Here they come, those diet men--
They done took my food:
The baby backs and hen.

Lox steal away,
The pork and cow filet,
Deer sans hide, bear meat fried,
My T-bone, cress-dressed.

I'll have fare anyway;
I will slay in a world without lunch.

(Intestinal interlude)

As they make take-out, I smile,
As they cease in shoot-gun style.
They'll become a roast and then,
When they're done, I'll chew
These tasty cuts of men.

Lock me away,
But don't de-chow my day.
Here inside, box ain't wide;
I've such loneliness.

When they put me away, they did say,
"In, this churl, without lunch."

In the box I must stay 30 days;
In I'm hurled, without lunch.