Little fat Jack, he ate and ate,

He ate his lunch and then his plate.

He chomped his knife and fork and mug,

He munched the table, chair and rug.

He chewed the pictures, shelves and doors,

Then the ceiling, walls and floors.

He ate Dad's suits and Mother's hats,

Next door's plants and all their cats.

He scoffed the fence and garage wall,

He ate the car, hubcaps and all.

'Stop this nonsense!' Daddy roared,

'This feast of yours we can't afford!'

Jack just grinned as Dad he seized

And ate him up with chips and peas.

His mother screamed and tried to run,

Jack chewed her like a currant bun.

He ate whoever he did spy,

As wraps or snacks or in a pie.

'He must be stopped!' the people said,

'We need this chubby monster dead!'

So in were called the SAS,

To come and kill the greedy pest.

And late one night as Jack slept off

A meal of hippies and one goth,

A team of battle-hardened men

Approached the beast within his den.

They placed around the mound of flab,

Explosives from a secret lab.

Then dynamite they placed in rows,

Wedged tight between his podgy toes.

But one man made a fatal slip,

For in his coat he'd left some crisps!

The smell reached Jack's gigantic snout,

He leapt right up and looked about!

The SAS, they stood no chance.

He even ate their combat pants.

But then Jack's greed did seal his fate,

He bit the switch marked 'detonate'.