In a little while from now
I'll have a lemon that's not sour.
I promised myself to treat myself right after the dinner hour.
I climb into the fridge, and open it a smidge
in an effort to get that yummy goo
and no other dessert matters.
I'll have a gulp and slurp
and a burp so rude and braying.
"My God," they'll say, "that's not the way
these food games should be playing."
I may as well go on, until my dessert's gone.
Jell-O again, naturally.

To think that only yesterday
I packed the ice cream away.
Looking forward to Ben & Jerry who
make the flavors that are OK.
But my weight would not go down
below three hundred pounds
and without so much
as a mere touch
my scale broke into those pieces
leaving me to doubt
talk about that Duchess Fergie
for if Weight Watchers really works
why can't I dessert me?
And in my hour of need
on what will I now feed?
Jell-O again, naturally.

It seems to me that are diets broken in the world
though not intended
and can't be mended.
What do you weigh?
What do you weigh?

(instrumental break)

Jell-O again, naturally.

Now looking down over my gut
I realize I must be a nut.
I remember how I cried when the food that's fried
left me bloated and in a rut.
And at 65 pounds gained
my mother, of me, is ashamed.
She can't understand why her little man
has become so damn enormous
leaving her so stunned
"It's a ton that you are weighing."
Despite my tries to swear off fries
I still hear my mom's braying.
And when she passed the plate
for what do I still wait?
Jell-O again, naturally.

Jell-O again
naturally.