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He’s fit as a fiddle,
He’s fit as a flea,
He’s 85,000 times fitter than me,
He knows every muscle,
Each vein and corpuscle,
Is pulling TOGETHER
To gather the prize :
A shiney medallion,
That dazzles the eyes,
This sleek, swarthy stallion,
Will bare recognise,
From his podium-placing,
The pain I am facing,
Debasing !
I’m chasing not catching my breath.
Have I bungs in my lungs
And a float in my throat
That is guttingly cutting my chance to devote
My days to a diet of damsons and dates
And pippified pomegranates plastered on plates ?
You ARE what you eat
And you reap what you sow
Be it gluten or wheat
It is sentenced to show
You should shake OFF the sugar
With vim and with vigour
Assault “Added Salt”
Make the regime de rigeur
Just consume fruits and shoots
(To SQUEEEEEEEZE into track suits)
And the juice
Only Zeus
May “Bisto”(w)
“Ahh…”
Ambrosia makes posier the beautiful bod’s of Olympian Gods
Athletic
Aesthetic
Pneumatic
Dramatic
Athsmatic ?
[SNIFFITY SNOFFITY SNIFF]
Only REALLY rarely
They’ve such figures because they are SWIGGERS !
cRHYME & PUNishme(a)N.T. 