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Nif o’Nifs, oh sweating sweet,

Why art thou a chop of meat?

Any wolf from Jungle Book

Prays to be thy own cook.

Nouf o’Noufs, oh gift of skies,

What dost thou wait in cellar ice?

What dread hand so wants to meet

And to transform thou into meat?

Nuf o’Nufs, oh voice of nights,

Squealing ‘bout piglet rights, -

Is Wolf fond of fondue of thee?
Does he smile thou to see?

And what shoulder and what art
Could fry the sinews of thy heart?
What the pan and what the fire
In what furnace us inspire?

Swine o’Swines, burning bright
In the oven, - be polite!
Any wolf from Jungle Book

Prays to be thy own cook.