From out the Isle of Shepherd’s Pie br A sight to make mere mortals wince br There came a navy br of potatoes, wavy br And an awesome army of unsavoury mince br br Forward thrust the evil hordes br Whose goal would be my palette’s end br Breaching past my vocal chords br My gag reflex might never end br br Tumbling, rumbling down my throat br Lumps of grizzle, gargling down br Plopping in my stomach’s moat br To trigger my instinctive frown br br And all watched by the mystic parrot br Who spins the contents, see them whirl br To form reconstituted carrot br Which always show up, when I hurl.