A fork is a cold shiny tool
To pierce, tear and ingest
Whoever has the fork in hand
Controls the meal of its choice
We're told the first few punctures
They're for our own good
Better carved up in pieces
Than blown up in the oven
Agh! Agh! Agh!
Forkboy
Flies by night on stolen fuel
To Santa Rosa, CA
Opens a fake employment office
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