It is that piece of meat
That turns the devil beast on
It is that hunk of flesh
That crazes the masculine instinct

We go after it like a prize of champions
And forget that the meat has any feelings
It is that incredible piece of meat
That we beat nightly when we come home to it

We see it as nothing more than a dish
That should be rightfully served to us
Locked away forever
In a tomb that we call love

We tell the meat it's ours
And we label it with our brand
Enjoying the motions of its cowers
As we slap it on the hand

Forget the cries of fear
For the meat does not know better
Than to be that delectable meal
That we devour its human rights of.