Slim Chance
I am morbid, I am gross:
please feed me an extra dose.
Don't care if it means diarrhoea:
think about the climate, dear.
Perhaps you'll
give me a capsule?
I'm not tubby, I'm immense:
here's my pound and sixty pence.
It's not that I think I'm colossal:
I'm saving all the fuel that's fossil.
Enough gab, let
me have a tablet.
Here's my tyre, far too spare:
give me drugs and hear my prayer.
It's not because they say I weigh a
ton. It's for the ozone layer.
No more swill-box –
fill my pill-box.
Yes, my bum looks big in this:
some tabs will give me flab-less bliss.
Who cares for the side-effect? –
there's the third world to protect.
I'm a shopper
for a party-popper.
Glaciers melt. The water's rising:
feed me Alli, I'm downsizing.
Sex? Eat less? That's far too hard:
chemist, cure my tub of lard.
The no-fat pellet!
So sell it!
Read the Telegraph report on 'fat pills' here
