For some strange reason Aussies like
A substance known as Vegemite
Which they like to spread upon their toast,
An almost blackish shade of brown
The taste of which might make you frown,
The first time of it's tasting's rather gross.
I guess it could be likened too
Something living on your shoe,
This greasy mess of concentrated yeast,
Or perhaps salty armpit
Or maybe clotted vomit
Yet in the land of Oz it's quite a feast!
But I must indeed admit
The second time that you taste it
Isn't quite as bad as first it was,
Then the third is better still
You might eat more and more until
You realize you eat it just because
Your taste buds have all gone quite mad
Because you crave the stuff like mad
In quite the same way you might eat a scab,
Or the stuff inside your nose,
You know exactly how it goes,
You shouldn't do it but it's not that bad!
Now I feel compelled to tell
Of another spread from Hell
A greasy jar of gunk the Kiwis eat
Upon their toast and just as gross
The taste of which comes rather close
To the yeasty Aussie rival treat.
Marmite's the stuff that I now mean
Blacker still and like a spleen
Pureed down and jarred into a spread,
The Kiwis eat the stuff like mad
And if it runs out they get sad;
Without it half of NZ would drop dead!
And let me say before I go
Something only one would know
If you lived on my side of the earth
NEVER tell a Kiwi that
Vegemite is better, that
Will hurt their ego worse than childbirth!
By Kerin Gedge
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