Turkeys, they say, don't vote for Christmas day, With stuffing and gravy, they're not part of the play. Their fate is sealed, come what may.

Their gobbling protests fall on deaf ears, Carved up and served, their fate is clear. Turkeys, they say, don't vote for Christmas day.

They roam the fields, free from human fears, But on the table, their future is near. With stuffing and gravy, they're not part of the play.

So let us give thanks for their sacrifice, Their drumsticks nourishing, their spirits bright. Turkeys, they say, don't vote for Christmas day, With stuffing and gravy, they're not part of the play.

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