This is not the song John W. is looking for, but obviously there is a taste for road kill on the Mudcat tonight.
The Road Kill Cafe
by John Flynn (of Philadelphia I believe)
Don't touch that brake.
Don't turn that wheel.
The life you save,
Could be our next meal.
CHO:
At the Road Kill Cafe,
We'll do it up your way.
We'll cook it fresh,
Right from your grille to ours.
Just scrape it off the tires,
And we'll toss it on the fire.
Come chew the fat at the Road Kill Cafe.
A gentle swerve,
Makes a squirrel hors d'oeuvre.
You just can't beat a,
Fresh raccoon pita.
That mangled Chevy,
Parked by the door,
Meant Bambi Parmesan,
For thirty-four.
CHO:
We love it when you,
Run down our menu,
Come chew the fat at the Road Kill Cafe.
Roger in Baltimore