Win vouchers to spend at any Tesco store

Competition No 3836

Set by Gavin Ross, 14 June

We asked for songs from the Campaign Against Obesity, inspired by the rousing hymns of the temperance movement.

Report by Ms de Meaner

"There's no discouragement/Shall make him once relent/His first avowed intent/ To be a fattie." So wrote Paul McCunn, joyfully misunderstanding the point. Hon menshes to Sara Williams, Watson Weeks, Ian Birchall, D A Prince and M E Ault. £20 to the winners, the best of whom

(Ms Crooks) also gets the Tesco vouchers.

Mine eyes have seen the horror of the coming of the lard,

It is lurking in the cafes where the foul fast food is charred.

Fight the Battle of the Bulge until the final inch, or yard -

The pounds are piling on.

She is chubby, he is strapping, she is morbidly obese,

He's a supersize food junkie, just a walking tub of grease.

Stop that scoffing, see the "lite", before you fatally increase

The size you're counting on.

If you guzzle high-fat globules as they glisten on your lips,

You will see the gross "love-handles" which are swaying on your hips,

You will hear the doctor's verdict: "Yes, I fear you've had your chips."

The worms are feasting on.

Joanna Crooks

Sung to the tune of "Guide Me, O Thou Great Jehovah"

See the fat slob with his kebab,

Chilli sauce all down his shirt.

Crisps, chips, lager, pies and pizza

Make him vomit in the dirt.

Greedy bastard, greedy bastard,

Clogging up his arteries,

Clogging up his arteries.

Dripping grease from dodgy burgers,

Standing in the chip shop queue.

Deep-fried Mars Bars are his craving,

Exercise he does not do.

Lazy bastard, lazy bastard,

What's his life expectancy?

What's his life expectancy?

John Nye

My old man's a lardball, he's nothing else but fat.

He's often jammed in doorways, and whaddya think of that?

He can't get in his trousers and he's bust the bathroom scales,

And down at Tony's Pizza Shack he's called the Prince of Whales.

He eats full English breakfasts, they're really death by lard.

His BMI is off the scale, his arteries are hard.

He could be a sumo wrestler 'cos he's really got the guts,

But he prefers a crate of Skol and a jumbo bowl of nuts.

Oh, my old man's a porker, he's 27 stone.

He hasn't seen his tackle since the time he was half-grown.

He talks of plans to diet, but they all go down the pan,

So if you want a healthy life, don't be like my old man.

Basil Ransome-Davies

Oh, beware of overeating,

For the joy of food is fleeting -

It's your body you're mistreating;

that's a big, bad sin.

When at Heaven you're expected

And your record is inspected,

You'll be sorry you neglected

all self-discipline.

When the angels come to claim you,

It is certain they will blame you,

For it is a wicked shame to

nearly burst your skin.

They may wheel you in a barrow,

Like a big, fat luscious marrow

To those Pearly Gates, so narrow

that you won't get in.

Prue Sheldon

No 3839 Set by Ben Whitaker CBE

We want verses on "The Seven Ages of Contemporary Woman", taking as your (loose) model "the seven ages of man" in As You Like It.

To be in by 15 July.

E-mail: comp@newstatesman.co.uk

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