Parodia wiersza „The Tyger”
ze zbioru Songs of Innocence and Experience Williama Blake’a

Chicken, chicken!

Chicken, chicken, born of egg,
Hanging slaughtered on the peg!
What immortal axe or knife
Hast seized thee and cut short thy life?

Where’s thy head cut off so soon,
One hot summer afternoon?
Thinkest thou there was a sense
In treating men with confidence?

Who will eat thee, chicken dead?
Who will drink thy blood so red?
Will they thee boil or stew or roast,
Thee they’ll pity once at most.

Ah, thou pervert, thou art bare!
I’m embarrassed so to stare.
All thy feathers have been plucked;
Now flowing down an aqueduct.

Chicken, chicken, born of egg,
Hanging slaughtered on the peg!
What immortal axe or knife
Durst seize thee and cut short thy life?

This poem has been published in the collection entitled print(new_line);.