Down on the farm where we're living
There's a rumour going 'round of some sick scheme
There's people coming for dinner it may seem
And the entree is gonna be me
After a life of placidity
I'm nearing the brink of insanity
The farmer plans to cook up me
And nothing's gonna stop him now

Hold that axe, don't bring on my death
Oh please don't bake me!

Back in the coop, I truly feel
That they intend to have a big meal
Now I thought we had a deal
That eggs were all I'd give
Don't stuff your breadcrumbs in me
I'd much prefer you got a turkey
Open-range living was the life for me
Not the oven-range, hear my plea

Hold that axe, don't bring on my death
Oh please don't bake me!
Farmer's coming soon
I will run
Oh please spare me!
Hold that axe, don't chop off my head!
Oh please don't bake me!

Now there's
Chicken Fricassee
What a recipe!
Sacrifice me now
Put me in a stew
Call Frank Perdue
Cut my giblets out
Better for your health!

Southern Fried is up tonight
Pick a drumstick
Take my breast
Take another wing
Take another leg
Eat me up whole
Colonel Sanders' HELL!!