He's large and round and mentally deficient, His stained pantaloons are no longer sufficient, To constrain his bulging, corpulent thighs, Blossoming daily on a diet of pies. He swaddles his legs in giant dungarees, Sadly they will not clear his knees, I've ne'er seen legs thus wrapped, Save 'pon the handicapped. He daily feasts 'pon curried buns, Delivered to his chambers, despatched in tons, Pity his clerks, who quake with fear, When their time comes to wipe his rear.