Dance Of The Pineapple Cakes Poem by The Royalist

First you need to buy in the dough
And then you heel it, toe it or knead it
And if it doesn’t hula in a circular machine
Throw a gay Gordon Ramsay fit ‘til it fits
Prepare the crushed pineapple and cha-cha
Victoriously at your dashing white soufflé
Top up with cream and ice your cake
Jigging the excess icing into a mouthful

In modern times it is boxed for hygiene reasons
And a sell by date is obligated too-
A sugary tart has to be healthy and pure
The driver delivers in all kinds of seasons
But has two left feet on his dancing shoes
So he clumsily drops the pineapple cake to the floor