I've always hated beans – whether baked or boiled or fried
And if you tried to feed me some, I'd spit them in your eyes.
I know it's immature of me, and heaven knows I've tried,
But if I even eat one bean, I'm positive I'll die.
I know it's only fibre in a bright tomato sauce
But I would burn the world's supply, and still have no remorse.
I'd rather eat a rabbit or a baby or a horse,
And if I found the fountain, I would totes destroy the source.
People seem to love them though; it really gets my goat!
They're slimy and disgusting and they slip right down your throat.
And if you want to feed me food, you really ought to note
That if you try to give me beans, I'll have to get my coat.
I've always hated beans you see: the taste, the sight, the smell
And if you have a lick of sense, then you'd hate beans as well.
I'm not a fussy eater though (in case you couldn't tell)
It's just that beans and bean affects are my idea of hell.
I'll never be content to let slip past my lips
And if you put one on my plate, I promise you I'll flip!
I sometimes say it's allergies, but now that mask has slipped;
It's odd that fussy eaters never seem that scared of chips...