The carcass carved of all the best,
What will become of the rest?
Bone and sinew, eye and brain,
That is all that does remain.
Fear not foul offal, dispel your woe,
There is a place for you to go!
The canning factory awaits,
To grind and mince and boil and grate.
Then those too poor to buy a chop,
Will choose you in the weekly shop.
A quick meal, an easy tea,
You’ll satisfy the hungry.
Thirty percent beef, the can will state,
But who will notice on the plate?
They’ll wonder at this tasty treat,
Of instant mash and mystery meat!