I have big shits, you have them too
my hopes and dreams go down the loo.
It’s not so bad, I carry on,
commiserate through screaming song.
Butt thing that burns is hemorrhoids,
vein agony my dreams destroyed.
A certain age, a certain time,
they’ll get you too: Prophetic rhyme.
The stench, the smell, may make you retch
as I destroy pristine toilet,
never again will be the same,
still have great hope merde goes down drain.
You think grotesque this trifling rhyme
till your GI works overtime.
Prayed clench of cheeks still save somehow
but this butt load through me did plow.
Apologize for rhyme crappy
but we’ve all felt sear in nappy.
So while you gag on my foul words
please say a prayer for my innards.
The innards that seem quite intent
to burst from me with force potent.
I’m calling truce, I pray for peace,
pleas, moving bowels can you now cease?
Cease and desist is fervent prayer
for I’m fresh out clean underwear.
Empty vessel must surely be,
simply no way more crap in me.
Butt thing that burns the stench, the smell,
you think grotesque, all know it well.
Though it’s damn bad I carry on
and scream my rage through shitty song.