Slaughtered Turkey

You was such a big bird fatten The first to grace our table We almost always had a young hen Sometimes a mean ol' rooster if we were able Looking foward to the golden bird With the crispy, crunchy skin not curd A drumstick or a baby drumette The bird of a stories one who did pruette When in the kitchen ladies did gather They needed to know what was the matter Mother discovered she didn't have pot In which the big bird would sot They took the hack saw to cut that bird Then cooked him in five pots how absurd Somehow got him ready for the table To add to our meal of greens and sweet potatotes