Well, I started out
On a turkey roast
Carved some out
From the bone
And the spuds went down
As the sauce did spill
I downed enough
To serve Brazil

I'm yearning for pie
But my taste buds sting
Tummy's stout
From the harvest fling

Well, some good Rolaids
May block the burn
And some Scotch might help
With the queasy churn

I'm spurning the pie
And the pain it brings
Copping out
Is the smartest thing

[Short instrumental break]

My comely wife
She freaks and frowns
I made her bark
Squealin' sounds
So I start to doubt
I dodge her stare
(But) I best be bold
And try her wares

She's serving the pie
I'm bound to down
The crust so fluffed
Crisp and brown

[Short instrumental break]

Enduring the pie
As my waistband clings
Drumming sound
As my farts just zing
I'm turning to cry
And shroud my pout
My gut bloats up
Must come out...

"I'm churning," I cry

"I'm hurling the pie!"