The Glutton Poem by Clifferd Goose

Pass me the pork ribs, Erma,
and the artichokes that's sitting over there.
This thing here with claws that I'm shoving in my jaws,
I don't know just what it is and I don't care.
Roast me another pig, Erma,
spice him from his hind legs to his head.
With stuffing in his belly and some big hot rolls and jelly,
then he wouldn't even have to be dead.
Pass me the bear meat, Erma,
then I'll have another slice of cow.
You're trying to push my button when you say I'm just a glutton,
but I'm going to eat it all up anyhow.
Pass me the mustard greens, Erma,
while I'm chewing on the legs of a hen.
Then just sit her by her water and the feed pan that you got her,
cause I'm sure that she will never walk again.
I've eaten all the chow now, Erma,
and it really was a tasty pick-me-upper.
You can call me a dirty rat or you can call me the cat in the hat,
just don't never ever call me late for supper.