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Run Chicken Run,
The juicier the faster,
Take all your babies,
Before they’re half boiled,
It’s not your fault you’re fat,
After all I’m the brat!
In the end it’s a matter of life,
So I suggest you hide away your wife,
And ask her to stop that silly noise,
Because she’s our fat lady’s first choice.
Some really like your brain,
Rest just wanna look good on the food chain.
You could try suing the Gods,
But the judge‘ll say you’re a fraud.
You just wish that you could fly,
Hardly knowing we still need only one try.
And we’ll never know if you ever crossed that road,
No, not while your in the oven as today’s load!
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Comments
bingo Rohan Jacob | May 28th, 2004
quiet funny... in a subtle and blackish way...
it rhymes very well.. and one more thing...
your photo is really corny man...
April | Jun 25th, 2004
I like your poem. Its funny, short, and an interesting spin of a chicken's life. Nice.
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