Foie gras

Each son of a bitch
The idol rich
Restauranteurs that feel its right
To serve up foie gras
Who ever they are
With brown toast in very poor light

Perhaps some soft music
A waiter from Poland another from Hungary who
Is opening wine expensive and fine
Thats what the idol rich do
And geese and ducks suffer terribly
Those sweet souls which as children we feed
But as some grow older and darker and colder
They want these dear birds to bleed

So its foie gras or diseased fatty liver
Where force feeding happens each day
Tubes are rammed down their poor throats till they
Bleed
and at that point some pass away
Some the liver gets 10 times its size
And then well they suffer so much
The birds cannot breathe
Cannot even think
And the farmers are so out of touch

Its all about money, the profit the margin
Its all paper stuff in the end
The sheds full of trash life goes by in a flash
To hell and back we try to send
Them into a maggoty mayhem
Such terror such evil such pain
These poor souls go bonkers completely
And consumers of course are insane

Foie gras is disease thats what we do
Create all this evil and on it some chew
How can we be so sick and be so vile
Watching them bleeding how it does rile
Every sense in their bodies they are sentient too
Unlike the foie gras requesters yes you
You bloody order it thinking its great
To have torture and mayhem upon your plate
The puke and the maggots no you cant see
But they were there earlier best believe me

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