LYRICS (contributor words in caps):

There was a boy from GEORGIA 
who never quite fit in. 
He found it hard to forge a bond with any of his kin.

His family owned a farm and they sold PEACHES off the street,
through rain and cold, through SUNSHINE and through sleet.

His father’s name was Tony, 
his income was quite low 
but he was PARSIMONIOUS and scraped by even though.

One day his son approached him all AQUIVER with delight 
He said "I think I’ve found the thing that makes my world feel right.

And that thing dad is cooking, I’m looking to go 
To culinary art school in the heart of Chicago"

His dad said "don’t be silly 
What is this FOLDEROL? 
Chefs are fat and frilly men with little self control 

A man should earn his living from the sweat upon his brow 
and you know that we haven’t got the money any how."

"I’ve already applied though, and tried going for 
their scholarship and I won it, so I don’t need you anymore"

His father’s heart was broken,
though it came as no great shock 
his son had often spoken of his wish to leave the flock.

And though they never got along, he loved his little boy 
and now he’s on a train that headed off to Illinois!

And he was so excited, ignited with hope 
that his life turned around thanks to that letter in an envelope.

His TRIBULATIONS in the pasts,
he walked in through the door to his first class.

"I am Monsieur Picardie, and I am your instructor 
As you might have heard, I am a PERSNICKITY motherfucker!

I’ll scream if you use one too many of the bay leaf 
but if you put in too few, I will ULULATE with grief.

But if it turns out tres bon, I’ll say “bon travail” 
And when my tasting’s through, mon dieu, I’ll be so happy I could cry!

Today we will bake a ZESTY cake, with ORANGE frosting topped with lemon flakes."

The classes, they weren’t easy 
and he struggled with them all.
His crepes turned out too cheesy 
over PEPPERed his SAMBAL.

His final project was his final chance to prove his skill 
And so, of course, he woke up feeling ill.

But still he was determined 
That his dish would be the best.
As long as they used german SAUSAGE 
they could choose the rest.

But in his FEBRILE state his sense of taste was all awry 
and so he added too much salt and made the whole thing dry.

And then there was a loud crash, the crowd gasped and gawked 
as Tony walked up on the stage and gave his poor son quite a shock. 

And hanging over Tony’s back—
a dozen PEACHES in a burlap sack.

His son reached out and took them 
But he found it hard to speak.
He realized he could cook them 
in a sauce with corn and leek.

He gave a thankful nod and thought “what SERENDIPITY.” 
Their sweetness balanced out the overbearing SAVORY. 

So from the twelve he picked three, and quickly, he chopped. 
He knew that with this sauce his dish would stand no chance of being topped.

And when Picardie tried some, he cried “yum, that’s good!” 
He licked his lips with glee and gave the highest rating that he could.

Once it all had ended, the two went for a walk.
Their pain was not quite mended, but they knew they had to talk.

The boy said “dad, I’m sorry that I left with no goodbye” 
His dad said, “son it’s my fault, I was never on your side.

I always thought I showed you the road to success 
But when I saw you CATHECT with your art, it made me reassess.” 

And for the first time in many years 
Tony’s eyes began to fill with tears.

Thanksgiving! The Musical