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Turkey, my love, my angel, please run, go hide in the shed.
If the meat grinder finds you, you will surely wind up dead.
Please go, my sweet love, fly and run hard and go fast.
Okay, one tiny kiss, but warning, it may be your last.

I thought you were quite safe, hidden, away from prying eyes.
But those cousins of mine have sniffers that do so surprise.
They love turkeys, of course, but not in the right way.
Okay, one more quick cuddle, but no more foreplay.

One teeny tiny final caress, but then you had best get out of sight.
My Grandpa Pete has a hatchet, and he is clearly not very bright.
He does not know of your smart brain, or your insane love for me.
He does not understand, so go hide in that tree.

I sense the relatives coming up the stairs, loud and clear.
You had best run away, yes, I love you my honey dear.
But it’s time to get going, can you sit on the roof?
When they get here, I will lie. They do not have the proof.

Get away, my dear turkey. Yes, you are the love of my life.
But if you do not get out now, I will have to find a new wife.
So run, my darling, run, my angel, it’s no time to play.
For That horrible day – Thanksgiving, is only three days away!

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