Chop The Cat Up
Filipino people the cat is already dead
So all you will have to do is chop the cat up
And cook it for dinner
Trust me it will be a lovely dinner
Because cat taste just like chicken
And if you love chicken you will love cat
The same way that you love chicken
poem by by unknown author
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Ode To Orange Chgicken
Orange chicken, oh orange chicken,
how much I love you.
You're sweet, sticky, and tangy, all at the same time,
you go great wi th soy sauce, but never with lime.
ode to orange chicken, which I love to devour,
it's been in my mouth so often, it knows that i have power.
It knows the names of my taste buds, Jill, Lil, and Bill,
sometimes the orange chicken is happy, but sometimes it's held against it's will.
Whenever I eat orange chicken, it goes CRUNCH, CRUNCH,
and I have to have chow mein, and that goes MUCH, MUNCH!
Ode to orange chicken, it is always in a bowl,
but did I mention, i also love eggrolls.
poem by Aubrey Harmel
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Crow Black Chicken
(laurence wilson)
Well, I went on the mountain
And I gave my horn a blow
Thought I heard some purty gal say
Yonder come my beau
Crow black chicken and crow for a day
Crow black chicken and fly away
Crow black chicken and-a ...
I like chicken pie
Well, the hardest work that ever I done
Is plowin a field of rye
The easiest work that ever I done
Was eatin chicken pie
Chicken crow for midnight
And chicken crow for a day
Along come an owl, lord, have mercy
And stole my chicken away
song performed by by Ry Cooder
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Wilma's Welcome
He sat the table, fresh kid,
waiting for his dinner,
pushing back the war
now so far away.
His big brother smiled
glad to see him safe,
when she walked in,
carrying a steaming plate
of the best fried chicken
either had ever seen.
The aroma awoke in his memory
soft Ohio nights,
God's righteous thunder rumbling
gentle rains cooling the hot August sky,
when Mom carried in our dinner,
fried chicken and mashed potatoes,
safety and love.
And looking at his brother's new wife,
he smiled and at last said,
'welcome to the family! '
poem by Steven Federle
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Ode to Chickens
An Ode to Chickens
Oh chicken, oh chicken,
With orange little feet,
All white and fluffy,
So good to eat,
Oh chicken, oh chicken,
I will get you so fat,
Then I will kill you,
And eat you at last
poem by Trevor Cummins
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Why Did The Chicken Cross The Road
The chicken was undecided on whether to cross the road,
she was a short sighted chicken
who, not being able to see across the road
couldn't quite understand the advantages
of being on the other side.
People passing by the chicken
stopped to ask if she wanted to get across the road
but the chicken just clucked, indecisively,
looking very concerned as to her own
demise if she should attempt to.
After all, should she transverse the road
and avoid oncoming vehicles
she would then be stuck on the other side
but should she not, then she may well
feel unfulfilled, unaccomplished.
Not wanting to disappoint,
let down, or cause a disturbance
the chicken did a little shake,
a little flutter and hop, skipped
and jumped across the road.
A local lorry came hurtling towards her,
she saw the headlights, heard the horn
but too late! There were chicken bits
all over the place while a local
reporter took notes, writing:
We'll never know why the chicken
tried to cross that road in heavy traffic
but she was pronounced dead
on arrival at the local hospital.
They'll be no live chicken tonight.
poem by Ruth Walters
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MAMMA'S BAKED CHICKEN AND RICE...by Talile Ali
YOU DON'T KNOW HOW SPECIAL AND NICE
I FELT ABOUT MAMMA'S CHICKEN AND RICE
BUT FOR ME AT THE TIME IT WAS BEYOND PRICE
EVERY DAY MAMMA'S CHICKEN AND RICE
WHEN I WAS SICK AND NEEDED YOUR CARE
WITHOUT GATTING A LASH CHICKEN AND RICE WAS THERE
THE DOCTORS TOLD YOU BLAND, AND THAT WAS FINE BY ME
CHICKEN AND RICE MADE BLAND SPECIAL FOR ALL TO SEE
AT FIRST AFTER DAY'S OF HAVING THIS SERVED TO ME
I WAS PISSED AS HELL TILL I HAD A TALK WITH MY BUDDY
EVERY DAY HE'D COME OVER TO GET ME TO PLAY
AND HE'D SEE ME FINISHING MY CHICKEN AND RICE EVERY DAY
HE SAID THAT YOUR MOMMA MUST REALLY LOVE YOU
SHE MAKES THAT EVERY DAY, AND ON THE WEEK ENDS TO
SHE GOES IT SO QUICKLY AND IT SMELLS SO GOOD
YOUR MOMMA MUST REALLY LOVE, I WISH MY MOMMY WOULD
I LOOKED AT MY BUDDY AND SAW IN HIS FACE
THE TRUTH AND THE HONESTY ALL PLAIN IN PLACE
AND FROM THAT DAY FORWARD I SMILED WHUEN I HEARD
MY MOM CALL MY NAME TO COME EAT THOSE THREE WORDS
CHICKEN AND RICE, CHICKEN AND RICE I SAY
MY MOM MADE THE BEST, IN HER OWN SPECIAL WAY
WHEN EVER I AM FEELING WSPECIALLY NICE
I WOULD ALWAYS FIND AN EXCUSE TO HAVE CHICKEN AND RICE
SO MOMMA, YOU NEEDED TO JUST HERE ME SAY
I APPRECIATE THE LOVE THAT YOU GIVE ME EVERY DAY
AND THOUGH IT MAY SEEM LIKE I AM BEING UNKIND
IF SO, I'M JUST BEING FOOLISH AND MANIPULATIVE THAT TIME
YOU ALWAYS COULD BRING OUT THE BABY IN ME
AND FOR THAT AND THE CARING THIS POEM YOU DID SEED
THANK YOU MOM, DEAR LADY FOR ALL OF THE ABOVE
AND THE CHICKEN AND RICE AND THESE MEMORIES OF LOVE
poem by Talile Ali
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Mamma's Baked Chicken And Rice
YOU DON'T KNOW HOW SPECIAL AND NICE
I FELT ABOUT MAMMA'S CHICKEN AND RICE
BUT FOR ME AT THE TIME IT WAS BEYOND PRICE
EVERY DAY MAMMA'S CHICKEN AND RICE
WHEN I WAS SICK AND NEEDED YOUR CARE
WITHOUT GATTING A LASH CHICKEN AND RICE WAS THERE
THE DOCTORS TOLD YOU BLAND, AND THAT WAS FINE BY ME
CHICKEN AND RICE MADE BLAND SPECIAL FOR ALL TO SEE
AT FIRST AFTER DAY'S OF HAVING THIS SERVED TO ME
I WAS PISSED AS HELL TILL I HAD A TALK WITH MY BUDDY
EVERY DAY HE'D COME OVER TO GET ME TO PLAY
AND HE'D SEE ME FINISHING MY CHICKEN AND RICE EVERY DAY
HE SAID THAT YOUR MOMMA MUST REALLY LOVE YOU
SHE MAKES THAT EVERY DAY, AND ON THE WEEK ENDS TO
SHE GOES IT SO QUICKLY AND IT SMELLS SO GOOD
YOUR MOMMA MUST REALLY LOVE, I WISH MY MOMMY WOULD
I LOOKED AT MY BUDDY AND SAW IN HIS FACE
THE TRUTH AND THE HONESTY ALL PLAIN IN PLACE
AND FROM THAT DAY FORWARD I SMILED WHUEN I HEARD
MY MOM CALL MY NAME TO COME EAT THOSE THREE WORDS
CHICKEN AND RICE, CHICKEN AND RICE I SAY
MY MOM MADE THE BEST, IN HER OWN SPECIAL WAY
WHEN EVER I AM FEELING WSPECIALLY NICE
I WOULD ALWAYS FIND AN EXCUSE TO HAVE CHICKEN AND RICE
SO MOMMA, YOU NEEDED TO JUST HERE ME SAY
I APPRECIATE THE LOVE THAT YOU GIVE ME EVERY DAY
AND THOUGH IT MAY SEEM LIKE I AM BEING UNKIND
IF SO, I'M JUST BEING FOOLISH AND MANIPULATIVE THAT TIME
YOU ALWAYS COULD BRING OUT THE BABY IN ME
AND FOR THAT AND THE CARING THIS POEM YOU DID SEED
THANK YOU MOM, DEAR LADY FOR ALL OF THE ABOVE
AND THE CHICKEN AND RICE AND THESE MEMORIES OF LOVE
poem by Talile Ali
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Chicken Hearted
(bill justis)
My girlfriend slipped and fell
Now she's hanging from a cliff
I can't come to her rescue
But these flowers i must sniff
You see i'd really like to save her
But i aint got the nerve
I'm chicken hearted
I'm chicken hearted
I'm tryin' to kiss my girl
And it makes me want to faint
I'm scared of my own shadow
And afraid of what i ain't
I've no inspiration
I'm kinda yellow...
I'm chicken hearted,
I'm chicken hearted
Mama's in the workshop
Daddy's in the jail
I seem to be afraid
To go to work and make their bail
I guess my folks will have to stay there
Cos i'm just like a snail
I'm chicken hearted,
I'm chicken hearted
song performed by by Roy Orbison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Point Of View
Thanksgiving dinner's sad and thankless
Christmas dinner's dark and blue
When you stop and try to see it
From the turkey's point of view.
Sunday dinner isn't sunny
Easter feasts are just bad luck
When you see it from the viewpoint
Of a chicken or a duck.
Oh how I once loved tuna salad
Pork and lobsters, lamb chops too
'Til I stopped and looked at dinner
From the dinner's point of view.
poem by Sheldon Allan Silverstein
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Pork Chops are Fun
chop chop chop the pork squeals over dinner
with it's fatty bits and tasty bites
it marinates on a stick over hot coal
who will taste it first who will finish the bowl
Wow Pork Chops with red wine
then dinner will be divine
chop chop chop the pork is done
with ginger, wine and lots of fun
it's time to have with a salty bun
chop chop chop see it go in the oven my friends
it's dinner time lets eat it all
then lets sit together and have a ball
chop chop chop the pork tastes good
with the meat so tender it bloody weel should
sometimes on the pan sometimes as a roast
call your freinds for dinner it's a dish one can boast
chop chop chop the pork is done
sprikle a little wine to make things bright
then the meat put it on light
watch it burn and tremble with delight
chop chop chop my pork chops are done
poem by Anuj Tikku
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Tender Buttons [Chicken]
CHICKEN.
Pheasant and chicken, chicken is a peculiar third.
CHICKEN.
Alas a dirty word, alas a dirty third alas a dirty third, alas a dirty bird.
CHICKEN.
Alas a doubt in case of more go to say what it is cress. What is it. Mean. Why. Potato. Loaves.
CHICKEN.
Stick stick call then, stick stick sticking, sticking with a chicken. Sticking in a extra succession, sticking in.
poem by Gertrude Stein
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Chicken Pot Pie
When we were young, bernies deli was down the block
(ooh ooh ooh ooh)
He made a great liver pate
(you know he did, you know he did, you know he did)
But if theres one thing in this world that I like better
Than a corned beef on rye
Its chicken pot pie
Chicken pot pie
(chorus of chicken-cluck imitations)
song performed by by Weird Al Yankovic
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I love chicken. I would eat chicken fingers on Thanksgiving if it were socially acceptable.
quote by Todd Barry
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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September Chill.
Uncle brings in the dead chicken by
The neck and begins plucking out the
Feathers with a skill that fascinates
Your 10 year old eyes and as you stand
And watch the chicken gradually becomes
Nude and some how not so grand not so
Chicken-like and then Uncle cuts off the
Head and throws it a side and then guts
It and washes it through with water and
Then puts it down on a large plate where
It lays in a solemn silence without fanfare
Or hymns or prayers just Uncle lighting up
A cigarette and you staring at the chicken
Clean and pure and still and from the open
Window a cool evening late September chill.
poem by Terry Collett
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So
So, what's it gonna' be...
I waited patiently, stubby pencil in hand.
'...chicken or fish? '
She was planning a dinner party, the magnificent woman-
'Um...um...why not both? Oh, and we need some candles...put those down.'
'ok...both, ' I wrote, 'chicken and fish. Who are these people you're inviting?
'Just a bunch of diplomats. Oh, and flowers, but I'll get those.'
'Diplomats? What kind? ' I inquired, idly.
'I don't know, yet. Whatever's not on sale. But there's only one kind of diplomat. You'd best be going. They'll be here in six hours.'
I rose to go.
'And the salad? ' I remembered.
'What about it? , she asked, tying on an apron.
'What kind? '
'Mista.'
'Yes, sir, ' I saluted, and left.
poem by Morgan Michaels
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Angel
Its not I who sought the novice its the novice who sought me cook went blind and drank too much and fed his guest on angeldust where did the pain start when did the symptoms begin where did the
Start what have the symptoms been? if my heads been through a windscreen why are all the eyeballs green? take me round the roundabout slow down, dont stop bail out-pull out it was not I who bi
Sheriff it was the sheriff who bit me by my lambchops, buttercup what a crucifixion what a crucifixion mean I was bitten by a horse now Im moving for divorce it took more than one man to change
Ame to shanghai lily whats a cluckin chicken whats a cluckin chicken need wheres the cluckin chicken wheres the cluckin chicken been
song performed by by Happy Mondays
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Chicken and Other Foods
She is coming home tonight, been away for two days.
Bought her, what she likes… a well roasted chicken.
On the farm where I was brought up, old hens that
didn’t lay eggs as before had heads chopped off and
ended up in the pot. Incredible tough meat had to boil
it for hours. Never liked the smell in a chicken coop,
I think concentration camps must have stunk like that
too many bodies in small rooms and no escape.
The coop’s capo wasn’t safe either, when it didn’t
perform as before, off with its head. When she enjoys
her roasted chicken with lemon sauce I will eat a burger,
since it doesn’t look remotely like a dead animal and as
I have never seen a dead cow, only milked them every
morning at five, it will taste ok with Italian salad.
poem by Oskar Hansen
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A Question
if i give you love
white (as it is pure)
whole (as it is allgiving)
and so fragile (as love is suppose to be
so sensitive)
like a fresh, chicken egg
that i have and hold
and shall now hand to
you, as i give it to you
with matching
i love you, i love you so much...
tell me what will you do with it?
i mean, the fresh,
white chicken egg...
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Our Economy Has Been Officially Saved
AND...
The winner is,
The winner IS...
Drumroll please!
The Winner...
IS,
The chicken.
'Whew.
That's a relief.
Sir?
There are a multiple array,
Of choice chicken.
Which chicken won,
As the best chicken to be served...
In the halls of our illustrious government.
Was it the fried? '
No.
But,
You are close.
'Oh?
So it was the baked.'
Nooo...
But you don't know how close you're getting.
'OH?
Well.
It just has to be the Bar-b-qued?
That's great news.
We were so afraid,
Our representatives would choose...'
The General TSO?
That's the one selected.
AND...
There will be free cooking lessons,
And recipes for all!
With immediate language lessons added,
To boot!
We are so tremendously happy,
To make this announcement.
Our economy,
Has been officially saved!
We've been blessed.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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The Dressed Chicken
father kills the black chicken
and marks a cross of blood
on the temple of the birthday celebrant
he claims life is a matter of sacrifice
a chicken dressed for something
The blood from the neck
of the chicken gushes forth
there is silence in this
bloody ritual
between father and son
inside both of them they
hold that the spirits understand
how they must be appeased
from all ills and bad luck
the son must be protected
a father then washes the knife
that killed the black chicken
he is ready to kill someday
somehow when
another human being just in case
kills a son, that brute that base.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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