I'm a churl wokker,
I'm a churl wokker,
Wokkin' flame's too high,
High, post-fry.
I'm a churl wokker,
I'm a churl wokker,
Dumb as a cow.

I wokked some bok choy;
It's now metal-veg alloy.
Had a hard time to get the smell out.
My implement is wrecked;
Guess the temp I should have checked.
For a new wok I'll have to shell

Out.

I'm a churl wokker,
I'm a churl wokker,
Wokkin' flame's too high,
Way past "high."
It's a curled wok, burned, it's a curled wok, turned
Up like a plow.

"Bumbler!" chef Meph'd yell,
"Twelve hundred degrees past hell!!"
He'd warn me the heat should be low turned.
I blundered 'cause don't know
Thermometer shouldn't go
To well past hot where bitum coke burned.

Try to boil water
In Brooklyn, hotter. . .
Still the temp's too high,
Ain't learned, I.
Ain't a pot-watcher,
Pressure-cooked water:
House goes KAPOW!