The colonel’s a dignified elderly man
In his white suit and black bolo tie.
His recipe secret, he cooks with élan
The chicken he so loves to fry.
The clown is resplendent in yellow and red,
With his face a maniacal grin.
He wants to make sure all the children are fed,
And they’re shoveling hamburgers in.
There’s regal white fur on the king’s handsome robe,
And his facial hair’s glossy and lush.
His empire extends across most of the globe,
Mainly folks who need food in a rush.
These powerful men feed the planet its meat,
There’s no end to the pleasure they bring.
These cookery icons who laugh as we eat,
The colonel, the clown and the king.
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This is 21st century junk poetry right here. No wonder Byron was an obese cunt.