Fishing is good time wasted,
Like chasing rabbits to slay,
Wishing for meat that's tasted
At lunchtime, my forte.
Baby, so please start a-dishing
Me some--that's your mission today.

Nothing could be finer than some eating in a diner--
Never boring.
Nothing could be sweeter than a treat of some lunch meat--
Stirs spirits soaring.
Gimme pork that processed. . .
What I'm waiting for
My tastes haven't progressed
Beyond baloney. . .more!

You must have some, surely.
"Hey, don't call me Shirley, churl, see,
My name's Doris.
Bud, you'd better button up yer lip;
You'd best be shuttin' up. . .'cl!tor!s'
Is the word with which my name rhymes,
But there's no way
You should utter it; and never say:
'Nothing could be finer than to be in a v@g!n@
When it's mornish!"

I look at her and say, "Fine,
I'm here for the buffet.
I come here at daytime
For lunch meat, not soufflé.
I'm not here 'monsiker' scheming,"
I accidentally say.

Suff'ring in the diner am I from the beating; shiner
Hurts me. . .soring.
She says, "Please retreat, sir, beat yer feet 'r meet yer maker!"
I'm exploring
The path to the egress,
I.e., the door.
I must take a recess
And go to a drugstore.

I'm afraid she'll hurl me out;
She is a burly girlie,
Sure is Doris.
I sure should be shuttin' up, but I suggest her muttonchops
Look Moorish.
I just mean the cut of meat
On blue plate today,
She thinks I mean her facial display.
Slugs me. . .'nother shiner; and the beating wasn't minor
'cause I'm boorish.