Has she lost her mind / Or has she gone beetus blind? Can she walk at all / Or does she roll when she falls? Is she alive or dead? / Can't tell, she's so overfed. We'll just leave her there / Pile of lard with retard stare; When she starts to squeal / Oinking for feels over reals, We'll just bide our time / Till Lord Beetus says "She's mine." Nobody wants her / They can see she's a cow; Waste of makeup / Smearing lipstick on a sow. How she puffs and grunts / Hauling round her massive gunt; "Health at every size!" / Will be proven to be lies... --Iron Ham, Fat Sabbath, 1970