The floor of the hall is sticky with blood,
The walls are spattered with meats,
There's two hundred butchers enjoying themselves,
And forty-one dead in their seats.
The bakers next door are icing each other,
And having a whale of a time,
Joe's diabetic and up for the chop,
His wife says the killing's no crime.
These are strange functions, but all in good fun,
And part of the circle of life.
So next time you're eating and think that you're done,
Remember who's wielding the knife.