Oh kitchen you marvellous room You allow our MasterChef ambitions to bloom My only gripe with you, you see Is that no matter how hard I try you fail to be clean? I wipe, I sweep, I rinse, I dry And yet the mess continues to be in oversupply. Almost every day I wish and hope That I’ll wake up in the morning without you requiring soap But for now, I’ll persist with the endless decree Of mopping and spraying as your loyal trustee