Every week it's the same
Dark meat for sale
And like others I know
It's hard to pass up a sale

And at the very least
She'll keep me warm
Nine months to the day
Field hand is born

Everyone looks the same
Dark meat for sale
No one has a last name
"X" marks the sale

There's a fork around your neck
Forks are for food
It was just a joke
To lighten the mood

There's a song in the air
The boys start to sing
It's as if through their words
They're plotting something