The Chant of the Barbie Dolls

I murdered me wife and I danced up on top of her
I pounded her vicious till I made a big slop of her
Her insides and outsides all mixed in together
I souffled her brain: it was light as a feather

I roasted her haunch with with carrots and parsly
Twas tasty enough, and her arse crisped up nicely
I coddled her heart, ah!, as in life, that's the truth,
But her scleroticised arteries broke me front tooth,

Her liver, and kidneys, her spleen and her pancreas
I gave to the nieghbours, they haven't stopped thanking us
"Regards to the wife", "Much obliged" they say cordially,
Whilest washing her down with a '56 Beaujelais.

Her left over remains I wrapped up in bandages
I selected choice cuts for weeks worth of sandwiches
I smoked and I salted her, pickled her sides,
Made a fine pair of brogues with leather tanned from her hides

The moral in question needs no explanation
To murder your wife, study food preservation
To dispose of a body, don't just dig a hole,
Roll up your sleeves, do a nice casserole.