Grand Ol' Hen by SharonA


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The Song Challenge: Chicken Of The Living Dead? -- Kay Martin, a secretary to a New Zealand MP, got the fright of her life a few weeks ago. According to the Auckland Sunday Star, she and a friend were chatting over a drink when they heard a chicken squawking. The bird sounded in some distress, so they went outside to investigate, thinking perhaps that it had escaped from one of the neighbors. But, there were no chickens anywhere. Then Martin realized with horror that the sound was coming from her own kitchen - coming, in fact, from the oven, where she had put a chicken in to roast half an hour earlier. "It was as if it was shrieking at me from its grave," she says. "It was so bizarre I just froze." As they approached the oven, the squawking reached a crescendo. They took the tray out, and as the chicken began to cool, the squawking died away. Martin chopped the neck off and threw it in the sink. She noticed that the vocal chords were intact. "Steam was coming up the neck from the stuffing," says Martin, and this had caused the dead bird to squawk. She has not cooked chicken since. P.S. TO ALL CHALLENGE!RS: If any of you are looking to qualify for the 'Two-Fer' Award (or better), check out SONG CHALLENGE! Part 8, Part 22, and Part 42 on the Song Challenge!s Past page, and see how you can work this Challenge! and one or more of these past hoo-haws into a song . . . It's a Double Dawg Dare, so ya can't turn it down! '-) -- Á.

Grand Ol' Hen by SharonA
(Tune: "Anne Boleyn" by R.L. Weston and Bert Lee)

SharonA's Comments: Áine's "Double Dawg Dare" has been doggin' me, since in my last song I included a past Challenge! that was NOT one of the three she dared us to use . . . Soooooo here's one with part 22 in it -- (pronunciation guide: CO = "see-oh")!

In the oven in Auckland, steam is thick;
The ghastly Grand Ol' Hen squawks, they do say.
The Grand Ol' Hen was once Kay Martin's chick
Until she hacked the neck that speaks today.
Oh yes, she did wring it hours ago
And it talks back in fright to tell her so

With its head tucked underneath its wing
It squawks with all its power
With its head tucked underneath its wing
At the dinner hour.

It calls to haunt Kay Martin, It screams, giving her the bird.
Gadzooks, it's crowing to tell her off for filling it, she's heard.
And just in case the chicken doesn't get the final word,
It has its head tucked underneath its wing.

Off in Fruita, CO, there is a spread
Where Mike, the bantam rooster, loudly crew.
The farmer's carving knife once cut its head
When up came Mike, alive, to spoil the stew.
It fluffed its tail up with a gurgling "gloop."
Lloyd Olsen cried, "You won't go in my soup

"With your head tucked underneath your wing
You squawk with all your power
With your head tucked underneath your wing
At the dinner hour."

Mike toured the endless towns and states; for months the cock lived on.
It often tried to peck, poor thing, although its beak was gone.
T'was awfully, awfully awkward for the bird to sire spawn
With its head tucked underneath its wing.