It was so clearly plain to see,
—And nobody would disagree—
She had, without a single doubt,
Phenomenal amounts of clout.
To look at her, you’d think that she,
Was happy as a bird could be,
But deep inside a fury burned,
Ever since the time she learned,
Her carefree days were all but done,
And soon she’d end up in a bun,
Alongside mayonnaisey gunk,
And other slimey, greasy junk,
Then processed, paper-wrapped and sold,
On discount to a ten year old.