I’m so glad I’m not a chicken
At a big commercial farm.
When I saw the batter thicken
I’d know someone meant me harm.
Plucked and butchered, dipped in batter,
Cooked to feed their avarice,
(I’d make sure to spit and splatter
While they fried me to a crisp!)
Then flash-frozen, packed in bags
For shipment to some market’s shelves.
I’d be bought by scalawags
Without the time to cook themselves.
They’d hurry home with reckless speed
And pop me in the microwave
‘Cause they’ve got hungry mouths to feed…
But I think they’d be awfully brave
To eat an angry bird like me
Who met his end so miserably;
The vengeance of such poultery
Might be some fowl dysentery.