Lard

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
Want a job? Go get me drugs
People desperate for work
Return to quite a surprise
Busted for intent to sell
Cops pay him a bounty
Forkboy skips town
Agh! Agh! Agh! Agh!
We came
We peed
We conquered
You bleed
The choice:
Fork Boy