[Intro: Use EXACTLY the selected voice throughout. Creepy Appalachian horror country, eerie detuned fiddle, sparse sinister banjo, distant thunder, scratching claws, ghostly chicken clucks. Slow, unsettling tempo.] [Verse 1: Same selected voice, low and ominous storytelling.] Down in the holler where the dead grass grows, There’s a crooked old coop where nobody goes. The farmer disappeared on a Halloween night, Now the chickens wear his boots and stare by candlelight. [Chorus: Same selected voice, haunting melody, stomping drums, creepy fiddle.] CLUCKING HELL, they’re coming for you! Red eyes glowing and their feathers askew! Peck out your eyes, leave your bones in the hay, These ain’t free-range chickens, they’re free-range prey! CLUCKING HELL, better lock that door, They’ve tasted human and they’re wanting more! [Verse 2: Same voice, whispered menace, banjo plucking like a heartbeat.] I grabbed my shotgun, stood ten feet tall, Then heard little chicken feet climbing the wall. One wore a bonnet, one chewed tobacco, One laid an egg with my name on the cack-o. The rooster strutted in a bloodstained vest, Said, “Son, you’re tonight’s special guest.” I asked if they were gonna kill me outright. He said, “No, we’re just brining you overnight.” [Bridge: Same selected voice, eerie whisper, dissonant fiddle, scratching and flapping wings.] The coop door creaks, the moon turns red, A chicken whispers, “Who’s cooking instead?” The rooster laughs, the banjo cries, “You’re finger-lickin’ good!” he cackles as he flies. [Final Chorus: Same selected voice, raw and sinister, frantic fiddle, heavy country percussion.] CLUCKING HELL, there’s nowhere to run! They’ve got sharp little beaks and they’re having such fun! No last meal, no prayer, no plea, Just eleven herbs and spices… and ME! [Outro: Same selected voice, whispered over fading banjo and distant clucking.] The farm is quiet… The coop is fed… And Colonel Sanders? He’s next in the shed. [End: One loud rooster crow, wet pecking sounds, sudden silence.]
