Gwynne: When rich folks war, who dies?
Chef: The poor
Gwynne: On that you can depend
So obviously for you and me
There's only one way this can end
Let's see: appetizers, salads... aha!
Let's spike the soup with some arsenic
Chef: What?
Gwynne: Just a few droplets like thus
Serve and each blue blood will die as they spew blood
A happy ending for us
Chef: Gosh!
Gwynne: How 'bout a pie full of cyanide?
Can you imagine the fuss?
Cramps, diarrhea, convulsions
Chef: Then see ya!
Gwynne: A happy ending for us
Picture that great big pool of puke and stool
A happy ending for us
Chef: I could fry up some heirloom toadstools with a little hemlock vinaigrette
Gwynne: Ooh!
Chef: What?
Gwynne: If they survive to the entree...
Chef: Go on...
Gwynne: Strychnine can be your best friend
Chef: Nice!
Gwynne: Poison the meat first, they'll leave the hall feet first
A perfect fairy tale end
Chef: Tra-la-la-la-la!
Gwynne: How 'bout a tray of bad shellfish?
Chef: Yes!
Gwynne: Ooh! Chicken delicious served rare
Chef: A tartare!
Gwynne: Choose any toxin then toss the whole box in
Voila! They're gasping for air!
Oh how they'll heave and spurt and for desert do things too gross to discuss
And they will claw and choke 'til all of them croak
A lovely ending
Chef: A storybook ending
Both: A happy ending for us
Gwynne: What do you say?
Chef: I better get cooking