I've got a vision and a theory He used to smoke the best But when he won all the prizes The taste was a test And his not so Mitchell's sister Used to help him on the farm She planted all their special stuff To keep them all from harm For over thirty years now He kept his secret hid His hotel was just a sideline Up the hill his mind just slid Down in the pretty black depths Of his man-made meat-filled hell If you looked into his garden You'd understand us so well Yeah, turn on a slice of roll And the meat for the feast So special's for everything you treat He smoked and chose sausage on a stick All cooked on the farm with a crispy stick Yeah, down in the garden That's where the people cry When their throat scars harden They put bats on their heads so they don't know When the flashing light comes And the ropes get oh so tight All upon the meat so the special stuff Go up in smoke tonight Well, fire up the chainsaw Pull hard on the chain People and pork are cooking again In some special recipe, what a nice taste Gallimau to hell, no one goes to waste If you're ever down his way And need a bed for the night Choose your rescue place carefully And you may get out alive Or you may end up in cellophane No preservatives added From a Vincent's fresh compact Meat is meat, meat is meat Meat is meat, meat is meat Meat is meat, meat is meat