Going down the road, looking like a fat toad, toting a heavy load of moon pies that finally settled in my stomach, just above my thighs. Ah, for the days of my youth, when I had no tail, now I am afraid of the scale. Then I carried rocks in my pocket to keep the wind from making me sail, now my wind could fill a sail.
Exercise is hard, that is why I am a tub of lard. Tomorrow is another day, tonight I will have another chip by Lay. My willpower is shot, all I do is eat a lot. Take heart, if it will last, when I reach eighty, I will have a blast. My taste buds will be gone, and I will journey back to the bone. Back to the rocks in my pocket, maybe one in my locket. But my knees, my knees, my knees, will say please, please, please, you ruined us by carrying all that food, now we are really in a bad mood. So I will stay out of the wind, so my knees won't have to bend.
Oh well, here we go again, what the hell, one more pie for old times sake, maybe even a piece of chocolate cake. Try as I might, I want to eat everything in sight. My, my, my look at that red velvet cake, the breath from me it does take. Try, try, try to fight the temptation, it is so hard to only eat in moderation. The day is short, so I will have another snort, of rye, and say bye, bye, bye.
I just learned through ancestry.com that my great-great grandfather was an old Indian fighter. Also my great-great grandmother was an old Indian.