There's nothing quite like barbeque
Your fingers you'll lick
If to ribs you stick
On meat we were all meant to chew
Pulled pork, Texas brisket or tips
From chicken and links the sauce drips
With cole slaw and fries
I'll meet my demise
To heaven I'll go smacking lips
7 comments:
What's wrong, don't you dudes like soul food?
Perhaps you're just not in the mood
For me, day or night
Good 'cue sounds just right
Excuuuuse me, don't mean to be rude
Too messy, that glop is, for me
That sauce and those juices, eeeuwee!
To gnaw on a rib,
I'd need gloves and bib!
I'll stick with my crumpets and tea
With pallate more pallid than most
Perhaps you should stick to milquetoast
I've already said
I like my meat red
And now I continue to boast
You rootin' and tootin' he-man, you
I've seen you eat buffalo gland stew
Steaks dripping blood red,
You'll stuff in your head
You'll eat what can bleat or can moo
Describing some bloodthirsty beast
Resembling me not in the least
I eat salad greens
And also wax beans
Along with my daily blood feast
Cha-chomp, slurp, shlup, smack, gnash, mash, lick, lap
Ga-ruff, tear, chew, crunch, munch, rip, rend, slap
Utensils be damned
Must eat this by hand
No room for dessert, just a Wet-Nap
I like all the cuts of meat's jib
And have since I cried in a crib
But down from my lip
The juices will drip
So eating I must wear a bib
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