Friday morning, early hour,
Homer’s anxious to devour
post-Thanksgiving doggy bag
lurking there in his Maytag

Leftovers, Homer’d rate’em
higher than when he ate’em
first at yesterday’s meal,
and he’ll down’em with zeal.

Marge warns Homer don’t pig out
but all that “D’oh” boy can dig out
on plate he fits
for an eatin’ blitz.

Turkey, veggies, ’taters, stuff-
in’ – Homer’s set, he takes a Duff
in both his mitts
for an eatin’ blitz.

Everything he sees just looks so yummy
but his eyes are bigger than his tummy – What a dummy!

Marge is right—before too long
he’s turning white, knows something’s wrong
where food now sits …
plumbing’s on the fritz!

[lengthy musical break]

Homer’s pipes are faulty food conduits—
intake does its job but drain won’t do its. (Can’t poop it!)

Ex●Lax® Homer’s swallowed soon
will leave him hollowed like a prune
would do ’cause it’s
given him the sh*ts.