I'm thirsting, baby, for a real delicious treat.
You find it galling, galling, galling what I eat:
These vittles aren't dross like pig feet and toes.
I help my-, help my-, help myself; you think it's gross.

So when my lunchin' starts and the bites go down,
There's not a single piece of sole around
Where's the food, please? Let's fill—it's time to sup:
Bring a tray of that lunch meat!

Don't bring me bacon
Or some eggs cooked easy over;
Just bring me luncheon, luncheon: no cuts of Rover.
No wedges of lettuce and no fricassee,
And if you stew me again, I'll send back that potpourri.

So when my lunchin' starts and the bites go down,
There's not a single dinner roll around;
Where's the food, please? Let's fill--it's time to sup:
Bring a tray of that lunch meat.

Tasty, tasty! So you say I'm no gourmet.
"But there are no leeks 'r peas, sir, on that tray.
This mess has got a pong of glue fact'ry!"
So sue me! I've got a yen for that sliced delicacy.

So when my lunchin' starts and the bites go down,
There's no nibbles from a bean pole around.
Where's the food, please? Let's fill—it's time to sup:
Bring a tray of that lunch meat,
Tray of that lunch meat,
Très bien, lunch meat!

"Galling, galling galling!
Galling, galling galling!"