One day a pressure cooker, Dropped on my head, Cracked me right open, I thought I was dead.
The world had gone white, And then black and then green, Oh what I could tell you, Of the places I'd seen.
But sadly, I've forgotten, It went whistling down the wind, All blown to smithereens, My memories rescind.
But I'll tell you this, When I awoke, I knew all about cooking, (It just took me a poke.)
And I danced around the kitchen, With my apron on tight, Flour dusting everywhere, How I worked through the night,
To make marvellous creations, From dusk until dawn, I had food for the brains, I had food for the brawn.
Something for every taste, Every culture and creed, I'd never been trained, But I'm a master indeed.
And now, there's a restaurant, And my own Michelin star, A cookbook, a website, A grill and a bar.
But I'll always remember, That pot made of lead, That fell from the heavens, And crashed on my head.
The Doctor's note here; 'It is a sad case, Of the girl and her noggin, And her mind out of place.
She thinks she can cook, Offered Nurse eel stew, We try as best to please her, Nought else we can do.
So we're recommending lobotomy, To save us the pain, Of eating her meals, Oh, not fish-cake again!'