round every corner's a food bank

but what about people like me?

my table creaks with provisions,

I'm never short of salmon for tea

 

its a love bank my heart needs

somewhere to nourish my soul,

fill my breast with fondant fancies

its been far too long on the dole

 

I dream of hot charitable staff

eager women dressed to kill,

piling my basket with promise

red lips, ripe bodies that thrill

 

every week I'd return for more

and though love might run low,

there'd always be a lover left

I'd wander out, my face aglow

 

even better to pick and choose

I prefer long legs and brunettes,

not stale tins of chopped ham

or cans of tomatoes on pallets

 

some say we get molly-coddled

must stand on our own two feet,

yet lone people like you and me

need affection more than meat