Second course coming up:

Oh mother, you've cooked us a succulent feast
for when father comes home from the pub.
Potatoes and veg, and chicken no less,
Which we know is his favourite grub.
The table is laid, with a knife and a fork,
And his favourite bottle of beer.
And Benny and I are so hungry to eat.
But what's that strange sound that I hear?
I hear the sad cry of the chi-i-i-cken,
As it bubbles its troubles away.
I cannot resist such a pitiful squawk -
I'm sticking to carrots today.

Oh Mother, that chicken now lies on the plate,
And Father has sharpened the blade
And Mother, that chicken is looking at him
Can't you see the poor crayture's afraid?
And Father it seems is not Father at all,
He's some kind of Cannibal King
And Benny and I are as green as the peas
Oh dear Mother, pray heed as we sing:
Hear the sad cry of the chi-i-i-cken,
As it bubbles its troubles away.
Oh who can resist such a pitiful squawk -
Oh it's carrots for me from today...

Oh Mother dear Mother, the house is all dark,
The clock in the steeple strikes two.
And Father is making such terrible sounds
As he sits all alone in the loo.
Indeed he is worse, can you heard how he cursed
Oh Mother, perhaps he will die -
For he squawks as he talks, and I'm sure he said "Cluck"
Sure, the chicken is singing inside
Hear the sad cry of the chi-i-i-cken,
As it bubbles its troubles away.
Oh who can resist such a pitiful squawk -
Oh it's carrots for me from today...