Potatochipginner Poem by Herbert Nehrlich

There once was a lady from Rye,
who was fond of potato chip pie,
when the chips passed her lips
they went straight to her hips
and the leftovers padded each thigh.

So she switched to the chips called low joules,
they were good for the stout and the fools.
As they went through the system
(too few fatgrams to list 'em)
they made beautiful, pebble-like stools.

Well, in time she gut thinner and thinner
ate her chip-pie for breakfast and dinner,
got an Oskar (it's true)
played the didgeridoo
a quite portly potato chip ginner.