I have dined in tar-stained tights
On battered chicken wings
In search of edible things,
Edible things.
Sure that if it looks like food
Not to consume it might seem rude,
And I never learned to eat my lunch
Down
Down
Down
Where the Obamas munch.

I have nibbled lobster tails
And honey-bees with stings
To conjure edible things,
Edible things.
Chewing chunks of angel-cake
(Food is fine but booze is fake)
And I never sank a glass of mead
Down
Down
Down
Where the Obamas feed.

Sirloin steaks I like to eat,
I cannot get enough.
Authentic cooks
And gourmet books,
It’s gastronomic stuff
Don’t make it tough:
(I know that’s bad)
Or I’ll get sick
(Perhaps I should,
I wish I could
I wish I could…)

Curse the mouth
That serves the gut
In search of edible things,
And only onion rings,
Onion rings…
Cry for the sole that will not face
A bowl of chips with deep-fried plaice,
And I never learned to touch for real
A truly Presidential meal
Down
Down
Down
Where they eat veal.

Kick me
Kick me
Kick me

Lick me