The thought of fresh bread drives me crazy
Brown, crisp rolls, fresh and warm
I roam the streets for baker's shops
Compelled to enter each I pa**
I once rode in a baker's van
Down the road when I was small
Could this have started my obsession
Or is there some more sinister cause?
I had a friend who was the same
Biting corners from his purchase
Murmuring some sweet endearment
To the yeasty object of his love
My pa**ion's getting out of hand
I'm rapidly losing control
Each room is stacked up to the ceiling
With it's moulding, doughy crew
So if you chance to see me walking
Or stumbling with a heavy loud
Please relieve me of my burden
And check my pocket for hidden rolls