Miriam Ostie Ott
She filled up the toliet pot
With the time she ate
Dinner at eight
Miriam Ostie Ott
Miriam Ostie Ott
She looked in the mirror alot
Each time she grew
With the more she'd loose
Miriam Ostie Ott
Miriam Ostie Ott
The battle of the bulge she fought
Each battle she won
The more damge was done
Miriam Ostie Ott
Miriam Ostie Ott
The less the better she thought
She'd loose her dinner
The more she'd be thinner
Miriam Ostie Ott
Miriam Ostie Ott
In the act she was caught
Out to the cleaners
And out through the wringers
Miriam Ostie Ott
Miriam Ostie Ott
Upon her death-bed she thought
How great I look
As her limbs shook
Miriam Ostie Ott
Miriam Ostie Ott
Six feet under she rot
In pleasure she moans
Because now she's just bones
Miriam Ostie Ott