I'm locked inside a tiny cell
              for reasons most unfair
              I've quite a story here to tell
              sit back and let me share.

             One time I went to a buffet
              to eat a lot of food
              I saw a man with hair turned gray
              not in a cheery mood

              Pig and cow and fish and bird   
              I piled upon my plate
              The man gave me the evil eye
              I thought I read some hate

              He looked some fifty five in years
              his eyes were piercing gray
              I could not understand his sneers
              each time he looked my way

              "The pig is very good," I said
              "Its something you should try."
              He looked at me with utmost dread
              I could not think of why

                       "I never eat disgusting pork,
                       Thinks you I am a loon?
                       No meat has ever touched my fork
                       Nor been upon my spoon."

              I was aghast at what he said
              it sounded full of scorn
              I looked to see on what he fed,
              his plate was full of corn

              "You are a strange one, yes indeed
              with what you choose to eat.
              You mean the food on which you feed
              has not an ounce of meat?"

                       "Sometimes in salad there's a bug
                       On which I have to chew
                       And I must eat it with a shrug,
                       What else is there to do?

                       But you're a nasty carnivore
                       My young bloodthirsty friend
                       The death of critters I abhor
                       Their murders just won't end

                       I see your life will not be long
                       By what's upon your dish
                       Your health you cannot much prolong
                       With steak, pork, foul, and fish!"

              "You mean I'll live a long, long time
              eating rabbit food like you?"
                       "Quite true young man, you see that I'm
                       One hundred fifty-two."

              I hid my shock at what he said
              I'm sure it was no lie
              If decades would not make him dead
              I knew I'd make him die

              I grinned and said in tones untrue
              "You do not quite appear
              much older than one hundred-two
              not by a single year."

              The old man smiled back at me,
              I knew he couldn't live
              I own a chicken factory
              and had a good motive

              To cause his death and make him rot,
              but then I looked around
              I wished to kill him on the spot
              but witnesses abound

              "Meat is wicked," he'd go and tell
              to everyone he could
              And then my chicken wouldn't sell
              and that just isn't good

              With practiced grace and mustered charm
              I looked into his eyes
              And asked him to come see my farm,
              its greatness to surmise

              "You simply cannot judge all meat
              and say that its all bad
              so if you come down to my street
              I'd sure be awful glad.

              You see I own some chickens there
              who live a grand old life
              I pay each chicken special care
              before it meets my knife."

                           "You don't understand my meaning
                           Of why it isn't good
                           You see killing is demeaning
                           Earth's creature's are not food!"

              "Look sir, I've got a knife on you,
              be silent and be still
              Do whatever I tell you to
              or I will have to kill"

              The man looked up at me in shock,
                  I showed no kidding smile
              I wanted him to meet my flock
              and stand a slander trial

              I knew I'd be the one to take
              his great old age away
              It was my hopeful plan to make
                  this vegetarian pay

              We headed to my factory
              and there I sat on him
             In vain he struggled to be free
              I cut each flailing limb

                               "Why are you doing this you brute?"
              He cried with pain-filled tears
              "You are an old and crazy coot
              who's lived too many years.

              I do not want to wind up broke
              and end up in the street
              When people learn that they can croak
              from eating tasty meat.

              So I will shut you up for good
              and chop you very small
              Then all my pretty chickens would
              have a yummy free for all.

              These birds you may refuse to eat,
              but they will relish you
              They love the sight of fresh warm meat,
              with blood it makes a stew."

               Police went to my chicken coop
               and found his DNA
               when they examined chicken poop
               that's why I'm here today.