‘Twas the month after Christmas, and all through the house Nothing would fit me, not even my denim
The cookies I’d nibbled, the eggnog I tasted, i now wish it were venom
When I got on the scales there arose such a number!
My mood was merely nothing but somber
All I could think of were the marvelous meals; the gravies and sauces
would be the cause of so many divorces, the wine and the hot cross buns; the
bread and the cheese and the way my mouth never did seize
So — away with the last of the sour cream dip, Get rid of the fruit cake
You don’t want to look like a blip
I wont have a cookie, not even a lick, I would rather hit my head with a brick
I wont have hot biscuits, or corn bread, or pie, These additional ounces
must go bye bye
I’m hungry, I’m lonesome, and life is treating my pocket sore But isn’t that what
January is for?
Unable to giggle, life’s not longer a riot.
Happy New Year to all and to all a good diet!’