From the pot to a bowl The goodies I surely cradle In a well stocked kitchen I am truly a staple.

You may do this to a lover with your eyes Or watch it as across the night sky it flies Wooden or metal is this style of club Hitting a home run will be a big hubbub!

When I'm stripped and mutilated, you cry. But when I'm burnt, you like it and relish it

Either flesh or plastic, still holds milk.

I am a soldier who can never retreat, Or a deal made on a city street. I rhyme with dawn, Shawn, and prawn. If I reach the end, the crown is drawn.