It don't come from hambone,
Seems like it's a porcine feed.
You think it tastes just like "Babe,"
But it started as seed.
You think I'm cookin' hocks or rump,
But with meat it don't belong.
It's legumous, with pig-pen hue;
It makes your flatulence strong.
But when you open up the oven door,
It ain't meat braised
No, no, no, it ain't meat braised.
No it ain't meat but looks like pork braised.

It's related to hedge, babe--
They grow it in the ground.
It's not a porcine haunch, babe;
When I tell you, don't frown.
You think that I'm cookin' something
That is a large animal part.
Here's a hint: it rhymes with "faux too"
And it will make you fart.
You had it last night. . .thought it was fried pork,
But it ain't meat, babe,
No, no, no, it ain't meat braised.
So, go ahead, stick in your fork, babe.

Melts in mouth when you bite, babe,
No need to cut with knife that's been whetstoned.
And unlike fish and moo things,
This food doesn't have to be boned.
You think I was cooking something
That to the abattoir did crawl,
But it has flowers that turn to beans
Ovoid, not ovine, and small.
Sommelier says white, I'll pull the cork,
'Cause this ain't meat, babe,
No, no, no, it ain't meat, babe.
No, this ain't meat that's on your fork, babe.