They used to be heavy, eatin’ food, drinkin’ bevy,
The chairs they’d sit on—custom-made.
Not svelter than a hog, fork
All set to pry a New York
Steak that’s too weighty to be weighed.
They’d swill booze all day, but they would never fill.

A mare with long mane,
They’d eat it all, well-done;
Their feasting’s never-ending.
Why are all the chowboys gaunt?

They taste from morn to ev’nin’
Big Macs and watch the TV,
And then fix up more vittles to eat.
There’s it goes: a snack burst
Of wurst, and in they pack it,
And then there is coffee cake that’s sweet.
Pies they raze when fillin’, but the weight gain is nil.

Much fare they’ve hogged. . .strange?!
You’d think they’d weigh a ton.
Their feasting’s never-ending;
Why are all the chowboys gaunt?

They prepare ’em a huge fress to bite
Of sweetbreads, roasts, and fricassee,
All placed on cheese fries.

These guys ain’t getting’ heavy
Though they’re chowin’ down like crazy;
They’ll cook a whole hog, and then they’ll eat.
Dudes relentlessly scarf
Even boy’s best friend, goes “Arf!”
Almost every single taste will they seek.
Guys’ dish is big fishes,
Yet they get thin—it’s queer?!

There! Digits, pronged, trained
Down toward each weighty paunch—
Up from their guts grub’s wending—
That why all the chowboys, gaunt!!

There goes a marbled roast ham,
There go five slimy buns,
There goes a whole free-ranger.
Fare out of the chowboys runs.

[fade on sounds of regurgitation]