-> "The Cravin' ( Part One )"
Original Song Title:
Parody Song Title:
"The Cravin' ( Part One )"
Once upon a prison kitchen, as I cook for sinners, bitchin'
Over many a pail and tedious volume of half-rotten boar
As they swallowed, nearly choking, suddenly I started hoping
That I hadn't left the cookies, burning in the oven door
This is sinister, I shuddered, burning in my oven door
Eating this but cravin' s'mores
I remember I'd forgotten, guess it shows my brain is rottin'
As each separate burning cookie crumbled down upon the floor
Miserly I eye disaster, somehow I had cooked them faster
From their looks now hard as plaster, plaster what were once s'mores
For right there the furious flaming tomb the oven flamed s'mores
Burning them, I'll make some more
And the milk had sadly curdled, lumpy, it sure needs a girdle
Gagged me, tagged me with bombastic tremors never felt before
"Tis some curlded milk repeating, exiting my stomach door
Just some curdled milk repeating, exiting my stomach door "
Sour it was, and that's fer shore
Hungrily my crave grew stronger, 'gurgitating milk no longer
"Well, said I, can't eat 'em, guess I'll have to make some more
'Cause the first ones were too crunchy, and I madly have the munchies
And so quickly I start mixing, shove them in the oven door
Flaming soon were my s'mores
Weeping at the dark mess, leering, long I stood there weeping, swearing
Pouting, screaming screams no convict ever dared to scream before
Guess the oven must be broken, 'cause the cookies sat there, smokin'
With a spatula I'm pokin' at the blistered, burned s'mores
Nearly bliss, but now no more
Back into the kitchen, churning, in the bowl I hope I'm learning
Soon again I smell the burning, somewhat stronger than before
"Dammit", said I, "Dammit, there is something in my oven that is
Broken, guess the thermostat is causing blistering s'mores
I will fix it in a minute and those blistering s'mores
Threw 'em out and made some more
Open do I fling the oven, then with many a curse I shove in
When in stepped 'ol Martha Stewart, she of saintly days no more
Would the stock malfeasance make her now a self redeeming baker
There the queen of yore, the faker, lurked in front of oven door
Lurched upon the crumbs of cookies littering my kitchen floor
Lurched, and stared, at burning s'mores
Then this old cookin' chick stood frowning at my cookies way past browning
To the trash we chuck and throw them, in the prison garb she wore
"Though your s'mores are black as raisins, I bet that you're still a-cravin'
Watch me work, you will be ravin', cravin' my delicious s'mores
Tell me what your ovens' game is, burning these pedestrian s'mores
You'll be burning nevermore
As I'm waiting this ungodly witch began to curse so loudly
Through the oven peeking little burning lumps of s'more
So I ran for help I'm fleeing, not believing what I'm seeing
Even now old Martha's seething...burned another batch of s'mores
Burned 'em beyond recognition, worse than those I burned before
Black as night, were her s'mores
TO BE CONTINUED
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