He is a greedy nincompoop,
Obese and vile Augustus Gloop.
My goodness he is such a beast
Existing just to gorge and feast
On everything we have in stock.
For heavens sake, we are in shock!
On bended knee he drinks his fill,
Not only chocolate, but vanil-
La, draining our sweet flowing stream.
You can't imagine how we dream
(My fellow Oompas and our boss)
Of turning him into fudge sauce!
Vindictive acts he soon will face;
I hope of him there'll be no trace.
No pardon will he get, we swear
Gone underground, and not by stair.
Nor ever will he see blue sky;
Augustus Gloop just has to die!
The pathways running under street
In tunnels never touched by feet,
Or boats, or cars of any kind
(Now home to braided strands that wind)
Are where the brat will meet his fate,
Learn what it's like to become "late!"
His greedy useless life will end
In turning round and round the bend,
Speed constant (9.5 per hour),
The wire running at full power.
Of him there will be little left -
Right down the middle he'll be cleft
In going through the glist'ning pulley.
Come on! we cry, let's mince the bully,
Make lovely chocolate chips of him
Or maybe mousse. Say, what's your whim?
Nosh Gloopy fudge or chewy toffee,
Unless you'd like some Irish coffee?
'Mongst whirring gears some streets you'll spy
Each one of them is mounted high
Note all their names in turn and then
Tell us which one's leftmost of them
