Wikipedia says you’re a form of bread,
but you are far more delicious, it has to be said.
You are, by far, my most favourite baked good.
If I could marry you and have your cake babies, I most definitely would.
A wooden spoon, a bowl and an egg beater;
These things belong to every cake eater.
Flour, sugar, butter and eggs,
it all goes straight to my jiggly legs.
As your ingredients are mixed into a batter,
I think of how this will only make me fatter.
Fill up the cake tin and put it in the oven.
I’d rather eat you than have me some lovin’.
You’re better when you’re chocolate, but then again, what isn’t?
I check the oven again to see if you’ve risen.
I know some people don’t like you when you’re rich,
but don’t worry, dear cake. These friends I shall ditch.
To try and quell my growing impatience,
I head off in search of decorations.
I think of my second birthday as I walk around the house,
of that magical year when Mum made you look like Minnie Mouse.
First someone puts candles in you and ruins your icing,
then they stick a knife in and begin their dicing.
I eat you and you taste magical, my dear cake.
It’s totally worth the belly ache.