There’s a drumstick in the refrigerator and it’s calling out my name,
There’s some biscuits and gravy next to it and they are doing just the same.
How do they know me and what is it that they want me to do?
Do they really think that I can devour them any better than you?
Have my talents at culinary consumption reached such a peak,
That the food now requests some quality time nestled in my cheek?
With prestidigitation the food will disappear from my plate,
By slight of hand I’ll fill my mouth and then I’ll masticate.
I'm the best one to contact when there’s food around to swallow?
I don’t want to brag but I’ve never left the table feeling hollow.
Come to me you leftover foods allow me to fill your destiny,
For I alone can make you happy while you digest in me.