When the frost is on the pumpkin and they're putting them in cans
Then it's time for pies a-bakin' while we gather in our clans
To carve the plumpest turkey that growth hormones can produce,
With the cranberries and scalloped corn and yams whipped up in mousse.
There's nothin' like a pumpkin pie after such a feast,
With cholesterol a-flowin' and yer front securely greased –
Pile on lots of whippin' cream – a second piece? You bet!
So far I been lucky at this heart attack roulette.
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