My mum used to recite this when asked to do a 'turn'. Don't know where it came from, but someone could easily put a tune to it.

Little Thomas was a glutton
He ate four times beef and mutton
Then undid his waistcoat button
And consumed plum duff.

He was told 'You won't get thinner
If you will eat so much dinner
And then finally some inner
Part of you will bust!'

He cried out 'What does it matter
Even if I do get fatter?
Put more pudding on my platter
Let it do it's wust!'

Then one day, and little wonder
There was a report like thunder.
Doors and windows blew asunder
And the cat had fits.

His old nurse cried out, much disgusted
'Drat that boy, he's gone and busted
Just when I had swept and dusted
Leaving such a mess.'

Then the painful task of peeling
Thomas from the walls and ceiling
Gave the family a feeling
Of sincere distress.

Any sorrowing relation
When asked for an explanation
Of the awful detonation
Was obliged to say.

'Russians have not been to bomb us
It was only Little Thomas
Who, alas departed from us
In that noisy way.'