Food is Murder’

I woke up on a bed of rice

Don’t know how I got there but it was nice

Though I soon figured out that I was doomed

To be somebody’s dinner that afternoon

So I tried to jump up and say catch you later

But I was pinned down by a baked potater

With two pieces of garlic bread

Like pillows underneath my head

Then I asked myself what kind of chef

Would have made an entreé of my death

And why I’d never thought about the cost

‘Til I was being complemented by applesauce

Food is murder.