Could I Write Of Finer Things:
I'd like to leave the paper white
with ne'er a word abroad.
Instead it seems I'm writing shite
I guess it strikes a cord.
The poetry I often pen
is full of poo or farts;
were I to write a sonnet then--
Thinks "man of many parts"
To be, to do, a big fat poo!
To ponder on the porcelain;
while traipsing iambs two by two
across the paper while in pain.
To squeeze, to clench, to let it out.
A piece to make you lift your nose
and with a taught eureka shout,
you lock and load a sphincter's hose
and raise a little to explode.
The bathroom shakes, a rumble's heard
the butt-cheeks spread to shed a load.
There it is; a creeping turd.
A splash! it hits the water hard,
lets hear it for the shit-house Baird.
I'd like to leave the paper white
with ne'er a word abroad.
Instead it seems I'm writing shite
I guess it strikes a cord.
The poetry I often pen
is full of poo or farts;
were I to write a sonnet then--
Thinks "man of many parts"
To be, to do, a big fat poo!
To ponder on the porcelain;
while traipsing iambs two by two
across the paper while in pain.
To squeeze, to clench, to let it out.
A piece to make you lift your nose
and with a taught eureka shout,
you lock and load a sphincter's hose
and raise a little to explode.
The bathroom shakes, a rumble's heard
the butt-cheeks spread to shed a load.
There it is; a creeping turd.
A splash! it hits the water hard,
lets hear it for the shit-house Baird.