Hail Mary Mallon - Plagues and Bacon lyrics

Well, we've got garlic, we've
Got some mushrooms, potatoes
Carrots and parsnips
-Ah, I'm a fan of parsnips
-lots of rosemary
'cause I'm a fan of rosemary

If in the obituary column, sniff it
It was written by the forks
And knives of Mary Mallon fever in the stew
Sorta buried in rabbit's and boiled cabbage
Had a little lamb - it was average
Coulda been a Magdellan, Mary had a craft
It would ask her to master the
Oven of Manhattan's upper class
On a budget, lunched with the cemetery staff
Til her resume had slashed through
The stomachs of the public
Everyone around you is dying
Everything you touch caught the pest
Imagine for a second the unrest
When the fruit of your labor is
Like a poison to the
Very employers you are laboring to impress
Queen Mary Midas
If gold is a rose-colored virus
Alive in the vilest environments around
Ladle in the soup
Feed you the spices in which
You are later cooked

OK, so the flour is there, and
You mix in the butter
So we're then going to add in
A little bit of water

Knives don’t cut in the kitchen
But yes those cooks may die
Tied to the same folk who loved you
And then used blood for the pie
Sick don’t look like it used to
And hearts can't eat off your fork
This goes out to the tragic
'Cause hail Mary Mallon wants more

She place the trays on the pots and plates
Keep the goose and the gander
With the possum played
A heart as good as gone and no option weighed
Whatever Mary carried when the doctors came
Coats on masked up orderly, "Hah"
Hellish fever formed from the pork and beans
Death came to dinner with New York's elite
A cup a milk a stick
Of butter and some quarantine
Mallon’s talents, a balance of beasts born
From the typhoid cellular to tell
You to keep warm
Death in a petty coat peddle her sweet corn
To the butcher in the bowery
And a felony feeds four
What cop? want to tell you to keep clear
Manage your sandwiches well and
It breeds fear
On the bar near the bucket of cheap beers
Its your money or your life if
You continue to eat here!

Mary, don't fuck with the cake today
Please don't fuck with the cake today

Not a pot luck
Got a unlucky pot where the ham hock wash up
Cram that slop down
Fifty cots in a sickly room
Each a pristine notch in her mixing spoon
Mary ain't a monster a marvel of medicine
I innocently hid a bit
Headache in the venison
America might get bedside critical
Sweating in her X-eye, death by dinner bell

Indignance and diligence loudly
How’d she work for the
Lawyers employing her proudly?
She made them the medicine they
Stay at home drowning
The fix is the Jones and Tyrone is the county
We know you mean well Mary, patience
There ain't enough will in the
World that can save them
Good made of wood widdled down to the aphid
The danger is dead and buried at St raymond’s

-and into the pan now this all
Sort of melts down and goes
Nice and squidgy and soggy now
For some mushrooms - got
To be careful - there we go
If you could stir those
Around no problem it's kind of
Nice having a kitchen slave, i must say!
-so are you planning to have a herb garden?