The horror of The Carving Knife.
I wish I was a foreigner,
A Hottentot, or a heathen Turk,
Or in a poor-law union, where
They never want a knife and fork.
Before a joint, unhinged, I stand,
When call'd on for a fav'rite bit,
And surely as I try my hand,
So sure I put my foot in it.
Folks say I'm not a useful man;