Of shrimps and steaks and sizzling soups
And turpentine rolls and cabbage groups
Comes a man of greedy, vicious frosting
The essence of virtue he is lacking.
An effervescent mind when he wants it to be
Outside a huge, round stomach you see--
Holding a mass of spoiled bacon and rotten eggs--
It's so conspicuous that you can't see his legs.
And beware when he is at a party--
Though often respected for never being tardy--
Indeed, one notes his voracious habits
Upon seeing him feasting on the platter of rabbits
That rightly serves the two grand there
(He really doesn't seem to care.)
He consumes the dinner of businessmen and technocrats,
And doctors and nutritionists and very fat aristocrats.
There is no denouement where he is present,
For his haphazard shouts are never-so-pleasant:
"Pass the seafood, pass the meat--
Any leftovers? My stomach's their seat!"
The moral's for parents and children alike:
Steer away from him, for he brings your hunger strike.
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