Mal Webb Laksa
I dabbled in Tom Chad Goong for a while
But it lacks a laksa's lackadaisical style
Consommé can cope in a shrouded tureen
But a laksa's at home
In a crowded street scene
Just hold on tight and don't wear white
My favourite place to go
When I'm down on my luck is a wee
Malay cafe where they do a good laksa
The price is right, the decor's shite
And don't wear white
The waitress comes to me
No expression on her face
Could be fire inside
A serene chilly surface
She's mild despite my wild delight
But don't wear white
Oo laksa, for thrills and spills
It's superlative du jour
Oo laksa, for all your ills
This hot broth'll have the cure
'Cos I'll be sculling the dregs
'Til I sweat like gelignite
Lips tingling in the afterglow
Of a sacred fishy rite
Just hold on tight and don't wear white
A marbled lava lake
Blood from Jack Pollock's toe
Upon a tofu shore
Creamy tides ebb and flow
The prawns invite a tender bite
So don't wear white
Pasta shiatsu pats you
With long floppy fingers
A canoodling spoonful
So pungently lingers
Attain new height in taste bud flight
And don't wear white
If you like your dining
With moaning and whining
If you want me to stay
Don't take my broth away