I dabbled in Tom Chad Goong for a whilenBut it lacks a laksa's lackadaisical stylenConsommé can cope in a shrouded tureennBut a laksa's at homenIn a crowded street scenenJust hold on tight and don't wear whitennMy favourite place to gonWhen I'm down on my luck is a weenMalay cafe where they do a good laksanThe price is right, the decor's shitenAnd don't wear whitennThe waitress comes to menNo expression on her facenCould be fire insidenA serene chilly surfacenShe's mild despite my wild delightnBut don't wear whitennOo laksa, for thrills and spillsnIt's superlative du journOo laksa, for all your illsnThis hot broth'll have the curen'Cos I'll be sculling the dregsn'Til I sweat like gelignitenLips tingling in the afterglownOf a sacred fishy ritenJust hold on tight and don't wear whitennA marbled lava lakenBlood from Jack Pollock's toenUpon a tofu shorenCreamy tides ebb and flownThe prawns invite a tender bitenSo don't wear whitennPasta shiatsu pats younWith long floppy fingersnA canoodling spoonfulnSo pungently lingersnAttain new height in taste bud flightnAnd don't wear whitennIf you like your diningnWith moaning and whiningnIf you want me to staynDon't take my broth away