Yech! Don't want, Don't want, Don't want, Don't want
More lunch meat, lady.
My face shows, to eat this we're insane.
Is it from Alpo that it came?
My mom tells now I'm widespread
And that I smell of Gravy Train.

Now, I've got to warn you
To not cook meat when it's gray.
I'll have to stop you
Before the mold comes, alive, and we all die.

Don't want, Don't want, Don't want, Don't want
More lunch meat, lady.
Look and see, expired last decade.
Every bite is a live grenade.
That's a ring finger on my plate.
Was that a mobster that got made?

I'm gonna quit school
Till the menu starts to change.
I'd rather eat gruel
Or a mince pie, with flies, than this meat with eyes.

I'll just say screw you
And eat plain old P B J.
I'll never see you
Till one day, I die, and you serve me on rye.