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Oh, burger, sizzling on the grill, I can not make my heart stand still. I've got the Heinz anticipation, That "where's the beef" articulation. A cattle call of bovine bliss Summoo-ns us to meat like this. This charcoal round-up will succeed, Behooving order—not stampede. My nose is filled with your aroma, I'm tripping to cholesterol coma. You are clearly heavenly chow. I call you my chopped "Holy Cow." You are truly rare indeed, In bun adorned by poppy seed. My love for you is nothing phony. Bull-eve me, this is not bull-oney. You slow me with your mooving kiss, But I'll catch up and relish this. I crave your fat, I'm tired of starches. Eat your heart out, Golden Arches. —Grandpa Tucker |
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