"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."