Roll up

Roll up roll up
The abattoir is waiting for the chance
To cut the throats of lots of lambs
Watch them jig and dance
Off the truck the merriment
The infancy of woe
Traipsing into the killing pen
None of them can know

The oddness and the queerness
The impropriety
They are never guilty
Such injustice here they see
And smell the blood and thunder
Guts strewn everywhere
Cries of absolute havoc
Loathing and despair

So unfitting an objectionable
Reprehensible as well
Carnivores are at the doors
Carnivores from hell
Mint sauce at the ready
Felonious desire
Iniquitous persuasion
Followed by the fire

The stench of death prevailing
Unjustified maybe
Unsanctioned and unlicensed
They all are history
Irreverent disparaged
Insignificant they be
Skin all burned and flesh all soft
Lambasted tragically