Hast looked at thissel in the mirror?

Owd mon, that purrin on weight

Accordin’ ter scales on eaur bathroom

Fer thi size tha should be ten stone eight.

 

Thi buttons are struggli’ to fasten

Thi trousers two sizes too teight

I’m sure that to get in thi clooers

Thar ‘aving to put up a feight.

 

I’m gooin’t put thee on a diet

Cut deawn startchy foo’ pies and spuds

We’ll start keepin’ tabs on thi calories

No more sausages, chips or milk puds.

 

We’re gooin’ to get deawn thi waistline

By five or six inches at best

Tha’ll ne’er get a suit uz will fit thi

While tha belly is mooer than thi chest.

 

I’m gooin’ to get thi a tracksuit

I’ll mek sure that thar will regret

All th’ale that thar supped o’er years

I’ll bring it aw eawt in thi sweat.

 

But afore tha starts wi’ thi slimmin’

Sit thi deawn an’ write up a will

If what I’ve got planned doesn’t cure thee

I’m told at thi age it could kill.