Colonel Sanders

There was a man, about 60 years old
Name was Sanders as the story's told
Retired from the army and settled down
Started a restraunt in an Iowa town
He didn't serve hamburgers, Cokes, or fries
Or apple, cherry, or bluebery pies
He named the place Iowa Fried Chicken
And you take it from me it was finger lickin'
The locals thought he was an awsome dude
He was known throughout the county for delicious food
Then someone told some Iowa jokes that weren't very funny
People stopped comin' and the Colonel lost money
Needless to say, Sanders got mad
He balled his fists and swore just a tad
"I don't understand" He said "The food's not to blame!"
"People were makin' fun of that stupid name"
He thought to himself, "It's not too late!"
"I'll just relocate to a different state!"
"Where should I go?" he asked Bob, Fred, and Sally
He soon consulted Rand McNally
He paged through the map with an anxious flick
He thought "It'll be pure fate which state I pick!"
He closed his eyes and hoped to get lucky
He dropped his finger on old Kentucky
What he said next rang out like a bell
"Kentucky Fried Chicken? What the ...heck!"
The colonel loaded up his oven and moved way south
He brought a brand new taste to the everyone's mouth
He moved his place to a piddley little town
And soon became nearly world renown
He kept making chicken 'till he was 90 years old
Including my personal favorite, Rotisserie Gold

From down in Orlando to up in Nantucket
They all cried when he kicked the bucket
He passed on but his memory won't die
He'll live on in our stomaches as the years go by
Now every tub of chicken has a picture of his head
And don't he look good for being dead?

Well, did that poem make you hungry? :-) Anyway, please click here to go back to my main page, here to go back to my menu of literature, or here to go to GeoCities.