Say It Loud, I'm Fat And I'm Proud
I do not like my carrots
and I loathe the sight of sprout;
if there are greens upon my plate,
I'd sooner do without;
a cabbage or an apple
does not leave me in the pink;
I need a drink.
I do not like the liquid stuff
that tumbles from the tap;
what others label 'Adam's Ale'
is plainly full of crap;
and what percentage proof have you
that alcohol's bad stuff?
I need a puff.
I do not like the taste of air,
especially when fresh;
a gulp of poxy oxygen
brings goose-bumps to my flesh;
my lungs, which long for thick tar,
are as strong as steel or rubber;
I like my blubber.
My tongue breathes British ale.
I love my yellow gnashers.
Obese, I'll turn to British grease
and then to British ashes.
