Parasitic worm buried in a womb Another being born for our abuses To serve mankind, it need not grow up When inherently it has such nutritional uses Graven goulash, make it posh Sanguine soufflé, morbid maître d' Gutted entrails brewing... choice cuts Ruptured pustules spewing Immature giblet pudding... choice cuts Infanticidal cooking I'm the ghoul of the culinary profession Preparing this toddler for a meal Served up with ghastly garnishes A lividinous glaze congeals Making use of my recipe selection A myriad of ways to do the infant Each dish stirring up my appetite To engage in abortive devourement Cleavers and whisks, my tools of dissection A gas powered stove my crematory The fridge acts as the juvenile's morgue In a kitchen so bloody and gory The body carbonizes in my oven The stuffing held in by sutures Ingredients from an embrionic sac The act of an obstetrical butcher Repeatedly basted in menstruation Endometrium set aside for a toast The once smoothe skin now crackles and burns This will surely stunt its growth Graven goulash, make it posh Sanguine soufflé, morbid maître d' (solo: "The Other White Meat" by A.S. LaBarre) Prone on the dining room table The babe is subjected to my fork As I consume the first helpings I delight in my toil and work I clean my plate of all its dressings Grazing on all the putrid gore Merely whetting my taste buds I am disposed to fix up some more Candle-light flickers off my best china The silver's been polished to a gleam Despite masticating post-martem abortions I'm more civilized than it may seem Graven goulash, make it posh