by Steve Thompson
The day began turkey Tom in hand,
He was destined for my promised land,
Stuffed him until his neck would swell,
Knowing he was destined for my ovens hell,
Greased, and poked, inside and out,
Inside the oven he made a large shout,
"Skin me, eat me, carve me, poor on the beer,
Whatever else you do I'm done, get me out of here."
Soon outside, murmuring in between moans,
"How about leaving me some of my bones,"
We all stood up and gave thanks for Tom's all,
We toasted Him quick, to the god of football