Nothing could be finer that to eat a carp in diner,
Dinner gorging.
Nothing could be neater than my diet, to defeat ’er,
Dinner gorging.

Gimme a two-story piece o’ fish and more
Brought in on a lorry to weigh down the floor.

Rolls with butter swirlies what I chew—
Unfurl my pearlies,
Dinner gorging.
Butter’s nice, though muckin’ up
My lipid count; still suckin’ up
And gnawing.

If I had a shad, sand dabs, I’d put ’em away,
Clean off my dish and cheer for parfait.

Nothing could be finer that to eat parfait in diner,
Dessert gorging.

Gimme a two-story piece o’ cake and pour
Out some wine that’s fortified—a quart o’ port.

“Skol!” I toast my girlie, then my port
Is pearlies-swirly,
Vintage gorging.
Chunder flies as it comes up
And drips down into my chugged cup
Of coffee.

If I had a napkin handy, surely I’d place
It over the streaming leer on my face.

Mucking up the diner with my heaves barfed on the china,
They’re abhorring.