Where Do Boneless Chickens Come From?

up tempo rockabilly, rockabilly country, male baritone vocal, playful conversational delivery, upright bass slap groove, twangy electric guitar, rockabilly shuffle rhythm, brushed snare and rimshot drums, vintage analog sound, humorous storytelling song, energetic but relaxed vocal phrasing, 1950s rockabilly influence, modern country humor

Now hold on a second…

I’ve cooked a lot of chickens.
Whole chickens.
Cut-up chickens.
Even one that still had a feather stuck to it.

But the store keeps selling me
boneless chicken.

And I’m trying to picture
how that works.

Went to the store for supper tonight
Cooler full of chicken packed tight
Breasts and tenders lined up neat
Not a single bone in the meat

Now I’m not saying something’s wrong
But I stood there staring too long
Thinking ’bout the birds I’ve known
None of them started life boneless

"Least none I ever saw."

Where do boneless chickens come from?
Are they built that way somehow?
Do they wobble when they cross the yard
Or flap those bendy wings around?

Can they perch like every other bird
Or just kinda settle in a heap?
I’m not mad about dinner tonight
Just thinking while the skillet heats.

Maybe there’s a farm somewhere
Birds so soft they can’t get air
Farmer walks out, gathers a few
Careful how he moves ’em too

Can’t roost high, can’t scratch the ground
Probably keep the fences low around
And if one tried flying south each fall
He’d get ten feet… then stall

"That’d be a short trip."

Where do boneless chickens come from?
Is it breeding? Is it a trick?
Did somebody raise a chicken
That skips the skeleton bit?

Do they cluck like regular hens
Or sound a little padded when they sing?
I ain’t arguing with the butcher
Just wondering where the bones all went.

Now look…

I know a butcher can take bones out.
That part makes sense.

But somebody had to raise the bird
before that happened.

And that’s the step
nobody ever explains.

Meanwhile my skillet’s warming up
Butter sliding, starting to pop
Salt and pepper, simple deal
Still thinking how that chicken feels

Maybe it’s better not to know
Some grocery thoughts you let go
Dinner smells about right
Questions can wait tonight

Still don’t know where boneless chickens come from
Still can’t picture how they stand
But they cook up fine in cast iron
With garlic sizzle in the pan

So I’ll thank whoever raised the bird
Even if the math seems loose
Fridge Raider’s making supper tonight
And the mystery stays in the coop.

If anybody finds that farm…

I’d like a tour.

I just want to see one walk.

2195/7500

Now hold on a second… I’ve cooked a lot of chickens. Whole chickens. Cut-up chickens. Even one that still had a feather stuck to it. But the store keeps selling me boneless chicken. And I’m trying to picture how that works. Went to the store for supper tonight Cooler full of chicken packed tight Breasts and tenders lined up neat Not a single bone in the meat Now I’m not saying something’s wrong But I stood there staring too long Thinking ’bout the birds I’ve known None of them started life boneless "Least none I ever saw." Where do boneless chickens come from? Are they built that way somehow? Do they wobble when they cross the yard Or flap those bendy wings around? Can they perch like every other bird Or just kinda settle in a heap? I’m not mad about dinner tonight Just thinking while the skillet heats. Maybe there’s a farm somewhere Birds so soft they can’t get air Farmer walks out, gathers a few Careful how he moves ’em too Can’t roost high, can’t scratch the ground Probably keep the fences low around And if one tried flying south each fall He’d get ten feet… then stall "That’d be a short trip." Where do boneless chickens come from? Is it breeding? Is it a trick? Did somebody raise a chicken That skips the skeleton bit? Do they cluck like regular hens Or sound a little padded when they sing? I ain’t arguing with the butcher Just wondering where the bones all went. Now look… I know a butcher can take bones out. That part makes sense. But somebody had to raise the bird before that happened. And that’s the step nobody ever explains. Meanwhile my skillet’s warming up Butter sliding, starting to pop Salt and pepper, simple deal Still thinking how that chicken feels Maybe it’s better not to know Some grocery thoughts you let go Dinner smells about right Questions can wait tonight Still don’t know where boneless chickens come from Still can’t picture how they stand But they cook up fine in cast iron With garlic sizzle in the pan So I’ll thank whoever raised the bird Even if the math seems loose Fridge Raider’s making supper tonight And the mystery stays in the coop. If anybody finds that farm… I’d like a tour. I just want to see one walk.

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