In the henhouse again,
Which is where I would spend
Every day of my life if I could,
But I've never said truer
Than those days would be fewer,
So I'm leaving right now as I should.
And it's worth duly noting
That the farmer is toting
His gun with a gleam in his eye.
So while chickens are tasty,
My exits are hasty,
Since I'm hardly inclined to so die.
Now the chicken's kaput,
And the chase is afoot,
With thrills in accompaniment!
So while shots fill the air,
I haven't a care-
That makes eight- his shells are all spent!