Chutney Feathers
Without my knife and apron,
A butcher I am still;
I strangle first a capon
And pluck its every quill.
I have a massive cleaver
That's buried in my head
I tried to kill a beaver
'Til I realized I was dead.
The beaver bought som flowers
But didn't give a dam
He placed them in my coffin,
And hammered down the lid.
They buried me in Cleethorpes
Amongst a throng of toads,
I was the number three corpse
A tale I've seldom told
Contributors: | Stacy Alexander, dkb, Apsley, fester. |
Poem finished: | 27th November 2002. |