Lord, my soul is ripped with riot,
Incited by my wicked diet.
“We are what we eat,” said a wise old man.
Lord, if that’s true, I’m a garbage can.
I want to rise on Judgment Day, that’s plain,
But at my present weight I’ll need a crane.
So grant me strength that I may not fall
Into the clutches of cholesterol.
May my flesh with carrot curls be sated,
That my soul may be polyunsaturated.
And show me the light that I may bear witness
To the President’s Council on Physical Fitness.
And oleo margarine I’ll never mutter
For the road to h*** is spread with butter.
And cream is cursed, and cake is awful,
And satan is hiding in every waffle.
Mephistopheles lurks in provolone,
The devil is in each slice of bologna.
Beelzebub is a chocolate drop
And lucifer is a lollipop.
Give me this day, my daily slice
But cut it thin and toast it twice.
I beg upon my dimpled knees,
Deliver me from Ju Jubees.
And when my days of trial are done
And my war with malted milks is won,
Let me stand with the saints in Heaven
In a shining robe, size thirty-seven !
I can do it, Lord, if you’ll show to me
The virtues of lettuce and celery.
If you’ll teach me the evil of mayonnaise
The sinfulness of hollandaise,
And pasta Milanese
And potatoes a la Lyonnaise,
And crisp fried chicken from the south.
Lord, if you love me, SHUT MY MOUTH!