The Man that Slits the Turkeys' Throats at Christmas
Words and music by John Rudkin
As sung by Robin Laing on "Bah! Humbug (The Alternative Christmas Album)" (Greentrax, 2002)

INTRO: In the distance church bells chime.
Soon it will be Christmas time.
On the fire there burns a Yuletide log.
Carollers are singing too,
Noses red and fingers blue,
Sounds of children coughing in the fog.
But there's one man who'll be working when you're tucked up in your bed,
For he has got a seasonal job; his clothes are always red.

CHORUS: I'm the man that slits the turkeys' throats at Christmas.
I'm the man that pulls their innards inside out.
I gather up the giblets, wrap 'em in cellophane,
And just because it's Christmas, I shove 'em back in again.
I secure their little ankles with elastic,
Then I mop up all the slime with bits of rag,
And I'm sure that it would please them,
To know before I freeze them,
I pop 'em into a little plastic bag.

When autumn leaves have fallen and winter winds do blow,
I visit all my poultry, shouting, "Five more weeks to go!"
I send each one a Christmas card; it always is a funny 'un,
Portraying thyme and parsley, rosemary, sage and onion,
But I'm a kindly master, compassionate and dutiful,
And it ruffles up their feathers when I tell them that they're "bootiful."—CHORUS

Some people say I'm cruel; some say that I'm insane,
But methods I've adopted are really quit humane.
I kill them, draw them, pluck them; it's the best way I have found,
Unless I feel vindictive when I swap the system round.
With my hand stuck up a turkey, it's not a pretty sight,
But they die with smiles upon their beaks to tell me it's all right.—CHORUS

One day this little turkey cock with tear drops in his eye,
Whispered to me, "Please sir, I don't want to die."
I said, "Come here, my chickadee; you don't look very chuffed.
Don't you know it's Christmas time, so turkeys can get stuffed?
But you have really touched me and, though we still must part,
There's going to be a place for you, right here next to my heart.—CHORUS