The Jazz Butcher Conspiracy : Lyrics : Poisoned By Food

Here it comes again - that same old invitation:
Table set for ten - use your imagination!
Oysters, lobsters, quails and frogs, sir.
Stilton, partridge - loaded cartridge!
Oysters, lobsters, have another dog, sir.
Garlic, dog-breath - this means slow death.
Poisoned by food - You better think it out
Poisoned by food - You better work it out
Poisoned by food - You better sort it out
Poisoned by food - You better spit it out!
Here it comes again - that same old funny feeling,
Sure to disgust your friends, because there's no concealing:
Poisoned by food - You better think it out
Poisoned by food - You better sort it out
Poisoned by food - You better work it out
Poisoned by food - You better spit it out!

Born to be fried!
Born to be fried! Yeccch!

Here it comes again - that same unwholesome feeling.
You just stuff yourself, now you've got trouble breathing.
Poisoned by food - You better think it out
Poisoned by food - You better sort it out
Poisoned by food - You better work it out
Poisoned by food - You better spit it out!
Don't swallow it, just spit it out.
Oh, you're not that kind of guy - you just don't want to die.
You just like eating, just like eating - it's just like eating.
Aw, you better spit it out.

No comments yet for this page [Add your own]