Vittles roast: wonderful dining is near.
Meanwhile, there’s aspic gelling;
our guts will be swelling from much too much beer.
Vittles roast; wonderful dining is near.

I have craft-craftily seasoned it all
for good holiday eatin’, postprandial sleepin’
when our eyelids fall.
I have craft-craftily seasoned it all

Try the cookies I’m baking;
in dough I was shaking
what’s been decarboxylated.
I don’t mean morning glory seeds
to make a boring feed
on which you could not get wasted.

We’ll be toasted metaphoric’ly, dear.
There’ll be no need for smoking
and coughing and toking—
there’s edibles here.
We’ll be toasted metaphoric’ly, dear.

But because of my baking,
hunger ain’t abating,
and so we cannot get sated.
So we keep up the gorging spree
in which we’re forging the way to be way overweighted.

When the postprandial time’s finally here,
after marathon gorging
it’s time to be snoring—
I’ll pass out right here.
And I’ll doze till morning time
when I will open my eyes.
Peso netto gain, I’ll find, is severe.