Fork Number Two Lyrics

Frank's molars are covered in cake. He's eating enough
for ten and coming right back again. Tables are cleared
in his wake. 'How does he do it?' they ask with a laugh.
Skinny as copper rail, something beyond the pale, it
makes terrible math. What did they say on President's Day
when he made those muffins and ate them all up? He
consumed all that stuff as if it was nothing, nothing at
all. They all knew that their Frank could cook, but it
was his appetite his hunger was out of sight that
caused them all to look. He'd throw a potluck and they all would come. The dishes he would prepare, assembled
with utmost care, would strike them dumb. But the way he
would eat, then repeat and repeat, on some cornbread
stuffing? He ate it all up. He consumed all that stuff as
if it was nothing, nothing at all. There is a grin on his
face. He's eyeing the plates in a pause for collecting
his thoughts. He picks up fork number two all of the
salad is gone. It's time to move on to the triumph of the
main course, and they silently anticipate what he's going
to do.

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