This was a woman of monolithic proportions. Probably around 30 stone, I would guess, even with hindsight. She would waddle around the town with shopping bags full of tucker with which to stuff her ludicrously fat face. The popular legend became unnervingly real, however, when she appeared in our boarding house canteen and started squeezing between the tables. The poor woman had a child of indeterminate sex and age (best guess, female, 12) who was about thirteen stone and could also be seen shuffling up gentle hills.
Fat Momma had her own song.
Fat Momma's coming
She's coming to fuck you
She's so fucking fat
She's coming to fuck you
She's coming up the stairs
She's coming to fuck you
She's got dead sheep coming out of her cunt
She's coming to fuck you
She's coming into the room
She smells soooo bad
And she's pulling the dead sheep out of her cunt
And the tramps and the children (continue, adding awful things, ad infinitum)
out of her cunt
(shouted) She's fucking you!
She's fucking you!
She's fucking you!
She's fucking you!

"I was driving my car the other day, and your mum stepped out in front of me. By the time I swerved round her I'd run out of petrol."
Ignoring the fact that schoolkids rarely drive cars except in the wilder reaches of Liverpool, this is a good practical illustration of the vastness of someone's momma, and as such we can forgive a certain amount of poetic licence on the part of the perpetrator.