Fair full’s your honest, sonsie face,
Great chieftain of the lolly race,
Above them all, you take your place;
Apricot, coconut, chocolate.
Well are you worthy of a grace,
As big’s my eye-ball.
The orange baggie there you fill,
Your form is like a distant hill,
To reach you one would run a mile,
In time of need.
While in your core the taste distill,
Like amber bead.
One bite, see rustic labour dight,
And break you open with ready slight,
Exposing your orange entrails bright,
Is any’s wish.
And then, oh what a glorious sight,
Apricot, chewy, rich!
Then, piece by piece, we stretch and strive,
To eat our fill, then on we drive,
‘Til all our bellies, stitch in side,
Are bent like drums.
The old man, looking on with pride,
See over there with French brulée,
Or Mozart-kugeln at billiards to play,
Or fricassee would make him say,
With perfect word,
Looks down with sneering, scornful eye,
On such a dessert?
Poor devil! see him over his Smarties,
Though colourful and great for parties,
Not fruity and not very hearty,
His fist like ham.
Through shopping mall or park to dash,
Or traffic jam.
But mark the healthy, FruChoc-fed,
The trembling earth resounds his tread,
Goyder’s line along he sped,
Or Torrens River.
With smiling face, orange packet led,
Best confectionary ever.
You powers which make mankind your care,
And dish them out there bill of fare,
South Aussies want no sugar-coated ware,
That rattles in plastic.
But, if you wish our grateful prayer,
Give us a FruChoc.
Adapted from Robert Burns’ “Toast To A Haggis”.