Yo, we stepped into Papas, thought we'd feast like kings,
But the Vongole they served us, didn't make our taste buds sing,
Ordered pasta and pizza, with toppings so divine,
But what they brought to our table, was nothing but a crime.
Papas, oh Papas, what happened to your flair?
Your Italian chef's creations, left us in despair,
From the overcooked shells, to the pizza's sad display,
We won't be coming back here, no matter what you say.
The pasta, it was tragic, not a Vongole in sight,
Just some sad, ordinary shells, it gave us quite a fright,
Creamy sauce, too oily too, it just didn't hit the spot,
If this is Italian cooking, then man, we'd rather not.
Papas, oh Papas, what happened to your grace?
Your chef may be Italian, but the food's a sad disgrace,
With barely any sausage, and buratta a mere tease,
We scraped off all the pizza sauce, it brought us to our knees.
But amidst the disappointment, there was one saving grace,
The free focaccia they offered, put a smile upon our face,
With olive oil and balsamic, it truly stole the show,
But alas, it couldn't save us, from the culinary low.
Papas, oh Papas, your beauty's just a ruse,
Your ambiance may charm us, but the food, it left us bruised,
We'll bid adieu to your grandeur, and seek our meals elsewhere,
For Papas, oh Papas, we'll never return there.