"I've been left out in the sun,
and my frosting is starting to run
Layers inside have become amashed
And if the birds don't lay off
I'm sure not gonna last
At the smell of my rot I make passersby cough
The birds around me are all ill
At least I get laugh there still
The poor fat dears can no longer fly
It doesn't take a genius to figure why
I'm almost gone and-no, it can not be!
The rain has started to fall on me."