Vittles: puce soup,
I don't know what you've wrought.
Vittles: puce soup,
I don't know what you've wrought.

Excuse my gaggin', babe, I can't keep it down,
'Cause I thought I saw a nasty eel slith'rin' 'round.
It's gonna come up one me; it'll be high tide,
Because something swims in there,
And I don't think that it's died.

Mys'try vittles: puce soup,
I don't know what you've wrought.

Musty myst'ry puce soup must have flat roadkill,
Like a hawk, wing-sundered bird that a van did drill.
Aborted lemurs? Maybe smoked gophers?
It makes me chunder like porridge that's choked with goat fur.
Myst'ry vittles: puce soup,
I don't know what you've wrought.

I heard some thumpin' in the hutch; then I swore I saw gore.
I sense fur of the kitten that had snake-bite mort.
I thought that I could sup till I flipped up the lid
Of the tureen and saw some pink lips flappin'.

I can't find the canine, and it looks likes fleas
Are floating on this rust-hued water--no, not Fido, please!
Some pustules from an ape or Van Gogh's sheared ear?
Do I taste rubber. . .octopus rear

In these vittles? Puce soup--
I don't know what you've wrought.
Roadkill vittles? Puce soup--
I don't know what you've wrought.
Skinhead schnitzel? Puce soup--
I don't know what you've wrought.
Insect vittles? Puce soup--
I don't where's the dog.