Methuselah ate what he found on his plate, And never as people do now; He took no account of the calorie count; He ate it because it was chow.
He wasn't disturbed as at dinner he sat, Devouring a roast or a pie To think it was lacking in granular fat, Or a couple of vitamins shy
He cheerfully chewed every species of food, Unmindful of troubles or fears Lest his health might be hurt by some fancy dessert, And he lived over nine hundred year
