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Poetic justice for the calorie counting police

We were taking about the possible end to the calorie being the ultimate weight watching measurement. Weight watchers have come up with a new system of measuring the value of food.

Hence the following poetry in motion

It's yummy. It's scrummy. You put it in your tummy.
First, you get it from your mummy. If you don't, then you're a dummy,
'cos mummy knows what's best. The bottle or the breast.
That's what'll see you through, till you're old enough to chew.
Then when you get some teeth, you can sink 'em into beef.
It's food. And it's good.

Buy it. Fry it. Clarify it. Boil it. Broil it. Olive oil it.
Braise it. Glaze it. Bouillabaisse it.
Marinade it. Carbonate it. Someone send for the fire brigade it.
Cream it. Steam it. Chill it. Grill it. Roast it. Toast it. Baste it. Taste it.
It's food. And it's good.

A la mode or a la carte, fondue, fondant, treacle tart.
Tutti-frutti, vermicelli. Throw a party in your belly.
Pettitoes. Pistachios. Stick 'em up your parson's nose.
It's food. And it's good.

Chips, dips, custard, mustard,
Roly-poly, capercaillie, cock-a-leekie, frangipani, piccalilli,
Ham, jam, yam, damn.
Nearly went and forgot the lamb.
Cheek, leek, bubble and squeak.
Omelette, sherbet, tartlet, turbot.
Candy, curry, toffee, banoffie, ratatouille.
It's food And it's good.

Heavensent nourishment. You can eat it in a palace. You can eat it in a tent.
Posh nosh. Haute cuisine, or the simple, wholesome baked bean.
It's delicious. Nutritious. You could bury me in kedgeree.
So edible. Incredible. Don't waste another micro-minute.
Open up your mouth and shove some in it.
Gobble, gulp or peck? What the heck,
Just get it down your neck.
It's food And it's good.