When I was a young turkey, new to the coop, My big brother Mike took me out on the stoop, Then he sat me down, and he spoke real slow, And he told me there was something that I had to know. His look and his tone I will always remember, When he told me of the horrors of Black November: “Come about August, now listen to me, Each day you’ll get six meals instead of just three, “And soon you’ll be thick, where once you were thin, And you’ll grow a big rubbery thing under your chin. “And then one morning, when you’re warm in your bed, In’ll burst the farmer’s wife, and hack off your head. “Then she’ll pluck out all your feathers so you’re bald ‘n pink, And scoop out all your insides and leave ya lyin’ in the sink; “And then comes the worst part,” he said, not bluffing, “She’ll spread your cheeks and pack your rear with stuffing.” Well, the rest of his words were too grim to repeat, I sat on the stoop like a winged piece of meat, And decided on the spot that to avoid being cooked, I’d have to lay low… Continue reading