Oh turkey, turkey, woe to thee.
You won’t be on our Christmas tree;
instead you’ll be with sauce and beer
and have some stuffing in your rear.
Oh turkey, turkey, don’t be sad;
you really should be very glad—
your life is for this Christmas meal—
it’s really not such a big deal.
Oh turkey, turkey, did you catch
how I prepared your booby hatch?
The onion, sage and breadcrumbs mix
made you as tasty as Dixie Chicks.
Oh turkey, turkey, y’know the flap
that used to run right down your back?
I got a needle and stuck it in—
to that flabby, plucked pale skin.
Oh turkey, turkey, it was hard
to find the stitch to showcase lard;
backstitch, running, slipstitch, tack—
which one should decorate your back?
Oh turkey, turkey, needle, thread
did blanket stitch over that bread,
and so continued down the line
until your stuffing pit looked fine.
Oh turkey, turkey, did you know
that I was once a sewing pro?
That’s why I took such a delight
in stitching up your inner light.
Oh turkey, turkey, such design
to serve up with a glass of wine!
Thank you for being so delicious,
(and such a huge hit with the missus).
Your life on earth was so worthwhile,
and you sure went on out in style.
You’ve inspired me—a new frontier—
it’s oversewing stitch next year.