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
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