She killed a man in April.
By May she was convicted.
The day of her execution came;
Her heart, it was conflicted.
The guard came to her cell
And asked what her last meal would be.
She said “I don’t know. What do you want?”
I put my burger in the microwave,
Turned it on, and walked away.
I heard a helicopter start
And bullets start to spray,
The Marines are hitting Normandy.
This is cooking uncontrolled!
I open the door to fetch my food
And find it nice and cold.
If you’re the type of fancy guy
Who calls pink things “magenta”
Then I can cook you up a bowl
Of “Fancy-Guy Polenta.”
But if you’re the type of guy
Who shoots and drinks and spits
I’ll fry it up for half the price
And call it “Good Ol’ Grits.”
I opened a bottle of root beer
And smiled at the sweetness and fizz.
You probably don’t think that sounds racist
But I’m white, so it probably is.
If I were a fruit
I would be a dragonfruit
‘Cause no one eats those.
If birds ate at restaurants
I imagine KFC
Would be a lot more popular.
The reason might just be
That folks would eat at restaurants
Where birds would frequent less.
You might think that’s racist
But that’s my fairest guess.
Who drove by a lemonade stand
And thought about it later
And decided, instead of lemons,
The -ade would be better with gators?