Grow, Mrs. Goldfarb, fatter, fatter.
Pile the potatoes on your
platter.
Listen to me, 'cause I'm your hubby.
I just adore you plump and
chubby.
I got a letter from the state, Dear.
You're gonna need a license
plate, Dear.
My little elephant joke come true.
Chew, Mrs. Goldfarb, chew!
There is so much more of you,
More to adore of you,
'Cause you're not
slender.
In your white dress, you're a doll,
Big as the Taj Mahal,
In
all its splendor.
When you're in department stores,
Don't use revolving
doors,
You might get stuck, Dear.
When you use the telephone,
Go in the
booth alone,
And lots of luck, Dear.
You had for breakfast: two pounds bacon,
Three dozen eggs, one coffee
cake, and
Then you had something really awful,
Four kippered herrings on a
waffle.
Nine English muffins, one baked apple,
Boston cream pie,
Philadelphia scrapple.
Seventeen bowls of Crispy Crunch.
Then you said,
"What's for lunch?"
Sweetheart, you are giant size.
You are Lane Bryant size,
My darling
Myrtle.
Last Thanksgiving I was thrilled.
You ate so much, you
killed
Your living girdle.
Have another dozen shrimp,
My lovely little
blimp.
Don't count a calorie.
I have just received a stub.
I owe the
Diner's Club
A whole year's salary.
Eat, Mrs. Goldfarb, daily, nightly.
Eat, though your chair is bending
slightly.
Love of my life, I'm glad I found you,
Each day I take a walk
around you.
I can't forget when we got married.
Over the threshhold I got
carried.
No other bride would be so sweet.
Eat, Mrs. Goldfarb, Eat!
Return to "My Son, The Box" -- The Allan Sherman CD Box Set
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