| I come from a land of kebabs and curries,
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| Second helpings, no worries.
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| Pile the carbs upon the plate,
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| Then one day, it’s too late.
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| No breakfast, no luncheon,
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| Just carpets I’m munching,
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| A thimble of self-esteem.
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| Glazed nothing for afters, an absence of laughter,
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| The saddest that I’ve ever been.
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| You just can’t be portly, not this side of 40,
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| Showbiz, a single chin game.
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| Scum paparazzi’s and weight police nasties
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| Have narrowed the hall of fame.
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| No one likes a fat pop star,
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| Pop is a place for the thin.
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| No one likes a fat pop star,
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| We want to hear thin people sing!
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| When I get faint, I chew through my restraints
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| It’s the best meal that I’ve had all week.
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| If I could eat my own words, I’d tear through the verbs
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| But nobody pays me to speak.
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| No one likes a fat pop star,
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| Pop is a place for the thin.
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| No one like a fat pop star
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| We want to hear thin people sing!
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| Now you’ve upset me, I feel like a snack.
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| A packet of Minstrels, a pie and a nap.
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| So what’s wrong with that?
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| No breakfast, no luncheon,
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| Just carpets I’m munching,
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| A thimble of self-esteem.
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| Glazed nothing for afters, an absence of laughter,
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| The thinnest that I’ve ever been.
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| Thank you |