There's a fat man on the hill
Who thinks slimness quite a thrill;
There's a thin man in a hole
Who craves meat more than his soul.
There's a woodsman in the hills
Who wants the city's whores and thrills;
There's an ad man in the town,
Who wants to sweat so he'll slim down.
But if they had the chance to do it,
They'd last three weeks, say 'nothing
Then return home like flowing suet,
To the job they've bitched all through
They hear, they say, the grass is
The women finer, the pleasures keener.
Then they go and find a lap,
That offers passion, then the clap.
Better to view Mother Nature's
Words on switching nomenclatures;
'Regard the turtle in his shell;
He knows the world outside is hell.'