Ah, Thanksgiving, in the brown Box and I will drool,
For hope that this one, will follow the rule,
That the Baker, the birdlegs, like last year, will burn,
Because all his guests for them now will yearn.
Rumours about the Arnold-invitation are heard,
That the Baker has regrets, since he fears that one bird,
Will NOT be enough, so he ordered some more, from the Kebab-Palace,
But mr K Rooster has closed his Kebab and moved to Dallas,
Where he now tries to heal, both his mind and his phallus.
But I will bring the Emu-roast, larger than a fox,
And push it under the bed in the little brown Box,
And then I will lurk, when the Baker is baking,
His onion-muffins and be ready for the recipe-taking.
But I understand, what he will most of all dread,
Is that the place, with Arnold under the bed,
Will be a bit crowded, and with some unluck,
Together with the big Emu he there will be stuck.
And with the Bakers red-hot temper, he can not give admission,
To Arnold alone with the Emu in roasted condition,
He would eat it all when he is under-bed-parking,
And scare away us others with his large barking.
The Baker called me a MISERERE and that was NOT easy to take,
So I have stolen all his rhymes and made a remake,
That is my revenge and for his own sake,
I hope he understands, that he better has to stay with his bake,
Or, otherwise, I will him by his fucking ears shake-and-shake...