Father, My soul is ripped with riot

incited by my wicked diet.

"We Are What We Eat," said a wise old man!

Oh, if that's true, I'm a garbage can.

I want to rise on Judgment Day, that's plain!

but at my present weight, I'll need a crane.

So grant me strength, that I may not fall

into the clutches of cholesterol.

May my flesh with carrot-curls be dated,

that my soul may be poly unsaturated

And show me the light, that I may bear witness

to the President's Council on Physical Fitness.

And at oleomargarine I'll never mutter,

for the road to Hell is spread with butter.

And cream is cursed; and cake is awful;

and Satan is hiding in every waffle.

Mephistopheles lurks in provolone;

the Devil is in each slice of baloney,

Beelzebub is a chocolate drop,

and Lucifer is a lollipop.

Give me this day my daily slice

but, cut it thin and toast it twice.

I beg upon my dimpled knees,

deliver me from jujubees.

And when my days of trial are done,

and my war with malted milk is won,

Let me stand with Heavenly throng,

In a shining robe--size small & long.

I can do it! If You'll show to me,

the virtues of lettuce and celery.

If You'll teach me the evil of mayonnaise,

of pasta a la Milannaise, potatoes a la Lyonnaise

and crisp-fried chicken from the South.

Father, if you love me, shut my mouth.