Am-i-fat-am-i-fat-am-i-fat-am-i-fat
Is it just fiction, or is it just fact
Am I thin, am I short, am I stout, am I tall
Am I far from the ground, do I fit up the hall
Can I carry my babe in my blubbery arms
Can I still dress up nice and exude all my charms
Have I shrunk just a little, my undies feel big
Have they lost their elastic, or am I a twig
Do I swim every morning, or still ride a bike
Do I run up the foot path, do weights- do I hike?
No no no, no I dont, I don't do it at all
But I chase round the children who run up the hall
And get off the floor 60 million times over
And I run through the park till the sunlight is over
At night when the little ones hop into bed
I read them a story, but daren't rest my head
As the night is still young, and there's much left to do
Reconstruct the whole house and rebuild the mad zoo
Then when I finally hop into bed
Do I care if I'm fat?
Not a bit…I'm half dead.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem