On today's menu The head chef is serving up poison Made with the cheapest ingredients possible And we can nibble on tapas news Which tastes foul with hatred But we're too busy to read We sit down at the table A social pressure cooker That smells like bacon I've already had my fill "Would you like to see today's special, son?" He asks with pride but he's dead behind the eyes "I'm on a diet man, no thanks, not today"