Oh doctor, doctor, why can’t you understand?
It’s not that there’s an addiction, or a problem at hand
I was born this way, with marshmallows in my gums
licking damp cupcake wrappers for chocolate and crumbs.
I’ll still fill my trolley with sugar, Himalaya high,
and though you glare disapprovingly, I really can’t deny
that even as you peer into my mouth, at a loss
in two hours time I’ll be sucking on candy floss.
I’ll take a cinnamon roll in the grass,
and do a maple twist in the park.
Eat the cake before you know that it’s scone
on a day that’s pelting pear drops and lemon chiffon.
Ah doctor, oh doctor, do you think it’d hurt to try
to take a warm bubble bath in blueberry pie?
Oh, I know it’s not right to floss with strawberry lace,
alright – I’ll cut down on caramel, just in case.
Oh doctor, oh doctor, stop trying to fix
my passion for downing French vanilla cake mix,
my habit of overdosing on cream soda at night and
drowning the hangover in Angel Delight.
Doctor, you see, you can’t fool me
when really I know that in that bottom drawer of yours,
There’s a half empty box of homemade toffee.
For those with a sweet tooth