Martha

MARTHA
 Martha was his first love, perched up on his shoulder,
 When the going got tough, her top feathers gone
 Her life was rough, but she had a friendly shoulder
 she could fly on.
 Martha was his first love
 Other birds live in cages, exposed to workers' rages,
 Suspended above a boiling vat, some eat the skin
 But some don't chew the fat,
 But we all love that down home, down home
 Deep fried pain, life ends in a bucket of limbs
 Coated in down home Southern comfort
 And served by the Colonel himself
 Martha was his first love
 When they fed him Martha
 they didn't mention her name
 But he knew all the same
 And his insides burned and his stomach churned
 And on the at day he swore, he swore
 His friends, he would eat no more
 Martha was his first love
 But as he grew older, he met a brown eyed girl
 Who liked to rest her sweet head on his shoulder
 But Martha was his first love