There once was a biscuit that sat on a plate
It sat there lonely, waiting to be ate.

But it had no gravy or peach marmalade
Alone, by itself on the plate, it did lay.

The wife was going to feed it to my hungry old mutt
But I ran and grabbed it before it was chucked.

I did not want it because I’d already had five
And I felt if I ate it then surely I’d die.

So I looked all around for a place I could hide it
For though I was full, later I’d bite it

But then I spied one pat of butter
So grabbed it, and ate it, to digest with the others.