Chilli Mustard

CHILLI MUSTARD

I'm a chef for the fat man
I serve his many whims
I help to keep his mouth full
And increase his many chins
Precious little thanks I get
Precious little cheer
Cooking morning, noon and night
three six five days every year

But today I'm hatching up a plan
A gourmet feast to boot
I'm going to cook him up a treat
I'll make the bastard puke
A pot so big you could hide in it
and still have room to spare
My culinary skills to the fore
It'll be a pucker fayre

A lorry load of this and that
Offal to be strained
You can't be what you eat M'lord
'cause you haven't got a brain
Throwing stuff into the pot
I tomato relish it with glee
You won't find this in any book
So send for the recipe

All ingredients are in
The pot is almost full
I put it on the open fire
And bring it to the boil
Oh deary me, I almost forgot
Just room for the custard
And just to give it a bit of kick
A trough of chilli mustard

Chilli mustard I hear you say
So the truth I will impart
Sailors feed them to the gulls
And watch them blow apart
With all the birds that fat-boy eats
He's pretty fowl by now
Although to be fair to him
He's somewhat pig and cow

Served up at his table-side
He tucks his table in
He gets a paper napkin
That hides under a chin
He ploughs through twenty courses
That hardly touch the sides
It could have done with a touch more salt
And maybe cheese and chives

His face suddenly turns quite plum
He lets out a deep groan
From inside him comes a gurgling noise
A rumble and a moan
A sudden explosion shakes the room
The rooms just been re-plastered
It's often said obesity kills
Well, that and chilli mustard