Waiting Till The Fat Lady Sings Poem by Patti Masterman

Certain people should swallow their tongues,
before embarrassing themselves again.
They say Poop Eaters Anonymous
is still looking for a few good men.

Some people will die quite young,
and leave behind a nice-looking corpse.
Sometimes you're the head of the animal;
other times, you're the back of the horse.

I insulted my image in the mirror,
I thought it looked a little bit off.
It's not the coffin, they carry you off in;
but the fact that you died, of a cough.

I stayed late and played very hard,
while they laughed, as though were a game;
The new rules are, make up as you go,
and never, ever give them your real name.

We're shallow, predictable, and fickle;
our species is well past it's prime-
And if the fat lady sings, we'll buy the whole farm;
if you're rich enough, nothing’s a crime.