The sweet perfumed smell of baked hell
Under its spell, served with broken teeth on an oyster shell
The cook disgraced, a plate of vomitus pungent paste
Sour love has a bitter taste, with a roes thorn baste
Curdled aroma, gastronomical coma, acrid taste of dreams
Taste a bug with a bite, fly soup in sight, topped with excreted creams
A spoon with a hole won\'t empty the bowl of pus that does pour
From a wound where it is spooned out of an draining sore
Putting back the paste would be a waste, eat it every bite
Clean off your plate before it\'s too late, with your mother don\'t fight
She\'ll tell you this stew is good for you, it will help you grow
One more gulp, taste the pulp down your throat it does flow
Overcooked heart a la carte swallowed with jaded drinks
Aroma drunk, can\'t tell it smells like a skunk, it stinks