Cockle doodle doo, it’s time for chicken Cockle doodle doo, it’s time for a feast Eat a ninety-piece bucket, you can tell He’s been to Clucking Bell
The chicken is a bird with a tiny brain So we assume he doesn’t feel any pain We shrink their heads and we breed them fast Six wings, forty breasts, then they’re gassed
Cockle doodle doo, we’re psychotic crazies Cockle doodle doo, factory farming’s insane We denied it all before our stock price fell Come down to Clucking Bell
Cluckin' bell. If you enjoyed it, the chicken didn't die in vain!