I don’t want to go to the gym
But I need to get thin
And I have this aching pain in my shin
It feels like my leg is made of tin
And if I exercise I will have to inform my next of kin
Because I will fall on the treadmill and graze my skin
Perhaps I should stay at home and drink some gin
And whistle a catchy tune like Neil Finn
But I know that making an awful din
Is certainly no way to win
The battle between my good and evil twin
So am trying my best to flee from sin
And although I have no motivation to begin
I will put on my mask with a happy grin
And take the trip to the downstairs gym.
By D.P. Guerrard.