I ask myself, that chicken done?
I got a little basting tool.
It must be cooked, can't eat undone.
It's greasy, even makes you drool.

I'm not too crazy for the rump,
Who cares now what's a henway?
A couple pounds if they are plump.
Then there's the bones you throw away.

And then there's the skin, it is odd,
It must be skin it's light and dry,
So light and dry.
So yellow, yellow it's so odd,
It must be skin, what is this skin,
That I must fry?
It's light and dry.

I cook with style, ate myself some hen,
Then dropped some pieces on the floor.
It's heart can't start itself again,
I want dessert just like before.

I fed my puppy with the wings,
I still don't get that joke, 'henway'?
Is it those bone things, he chews again,
I threw away?

And then there's the skin, it is odd,
It must be skin it's light and dry,
So light and dry.
So yellow, yellow it's so odd,
It must be skin, what is this skin,
That I must fry?
It's light and dry.