’cause now it’s Judy’s turn to fry,
Judy’s turn to fry,
Judy’s turn to fry
in Johnny’s clam shack, it’s she.

It ain’t foodies here at Johnny’s to eat hearty. . .
for those whose fare is fried things.
Transfat in the fried clams ain’t out—
neither in the onion rings.

Tonight it’s Judy’s turn to fry
Judy’s turn to fry,
Judy starts to cry
in Johnny’s clam shack. . .teary.

Finally that night, Leslie became untethered
from that hot bubbling machine.
Slam in clams, fat spats and makes plops—
your apron’s real far from clean.

But now it’s Judy’s turn to fry,
Judy floods her eyes,
sweaty are her thighs
in Johnny’s clam shack. . .greasy!

Now, who likes makin’ fritters for a party
of twelve? Fat’s temp is so high.
Johnny made Judy the victim
that night—someone’s gonna die.

’cause it was Judy’s turn to fry,
metaphoric fry.
Johnny’s turn to fry,
’cause Johnny’s a snack, greasy.