This is the story of Oliver Trott

A vile, revolting child

Whose snacking made his mother ill

And drove his father wild

Manners for most, are simple things

Following them is easy

But what and how this creature ate

Made others feel quite queasy

Tinned sardines in custard sauce

Marshmallows served with gravy

To watch their son devour his tea

Would send his parents crazy

Earthworms roasted, woodlice grilled

Were treats for Master Trott

And when he found a mouldy cake

He promptly ate the lot

Knives and forks just slowed him down

With food he didn’t linger

He’d rather use his hands like spades

Or skewer things on his finger

Lumpy milk bought months ago

He’d drink and smack his lips

Then rub the dandruff off his head

And sprinkle it on chips

And how, you ask, did Mr Trott

Put food upon his plate?

By rooting through the bins of course

For food well out-of-date

Spots, snot, assorted grot

Held no fear for Oliver Trott

And cheese that smelt like sweaty feet

He looked upon as quite the treat

His end was sadly quick and brief

The cause of it? A lettuce leaf

He never saw the salad lurking

While spreading jam upon a gherkin

Unbeknownst, he pushed it in

Then wiped some ketchup from his chin

He wheezed in pain, “I’ve been done in!

I think I ate a vitamin.

Of all the strange ingredients

They’ve finished me with nutrients!”

And then his face turned ashen grey

Poor Oliver had passed away.

This is the story of Oliver Trott

Who ate the food he found

And like the snacks he favoured most

He’s rotting underground