A tie score in baseball, and I'm getting peckish.
No one hitting home runs; I've a yen for food,
Manna, food, manna, food.

So I'm gonna get out of seat
And I'm gonna walk all the way
To a vendor who will sell me
Some swell feed and a pint; I pay
And then I got back to my seat.

The chow mein was loaded with gristle and fat.
And it smelled bad, the chow fun.
But the wurst bun had something lurking in there.
I opened it. . .was stunned!
Rat on the bun, rat on the bun!
Words failed me and up its tail did stand,
Hurling had begun

At this rat on the bun, rat on the bun, rat on the bun.

Well this chunder-maker made me heave and sigh, tasting this Rodentia chum.
And I belched out big bits of this bilious fare; hope it weren't rabid this one.
Rat on the bun, rat on the bun!
Words failed me and up its tail did stand,
Hurling had begun

At this rat on the bun, rat on the bun, rat on the bun.

Well, this bite's appalling, my dessert I've hurled, I can't keep my food down.
There's a mound that surgin' down a big fan's chair; I ralph as he turns around,

Asks, "What the f*ck?!" Basks in the muck.

The cascading sludge then makes him budge,
Lurches to the floor,
Lands on rat on the bun, rat on the bun. . . .