Here is a little ditty I dashed off to celebrate an old friend, a saloon singer of ample proportions who always said she wasn't fat; just a little too short for her weight:

She's a round mound of rollicking sound,
A spherical wonder to see!
Folks pay through the nose,
To hear her disclose,
The menu she gobbles with glee.

She rolls to the table and uprights herself,
Like a great vessel bobbing at sea.
She wolfs down a turkey, two hams and a beer,
And, afterward, hits a high C!

She sings like a bird – a wond'rous big bird,
Who never could perch in a tree!
Consuming her own weight in groceries each day,
A platoon could take shade in her lee.

But, I once heard her sing a most plaintive refrain,
A lament for the once-slender she,
Who was left far behind, as her appetite gained,
Till, at last, she just begged to be free.

She gave up her smoking, she gave up her gin,
She gave up Long Island Ice Tea.
She was ready to give up the ghost, so she said,
Confessing herself once to me.

"I would, but I'm chicken," she finally admitted,
"And besides, dead, I wouldn't be me!"
So, with renewed gusto, she follows her star,
Gas-tro-nom-i-cal-ly.

You might see her one night at the Cannonball Grill,
Or the Hog Heaven Diner, you see.
She sings for her supper, her breakfast and lunch,
And she swallows it all with great glee!

She's a fabulous thing to hear and behold,
Though she's caused many a top chef to flee,
Knowing that coming to dine at his chez,
She could wipe out his whole eat-er-y.

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Her most famous quote, but on it – don't linger, is:
"Oh, do come on – just pull my finger!"