With cheeks firmly planted I put pen to paper.
It’s time to rhyme about this pooey caper.
It’s a special day, the anniversary of Papa’s birth.
To celebrate I release something of considerable girth.
Kind of like spuds all mashed together…
Only worse to smell and much, much heavier.
As it released there was an escaping gas.
A horrible experience from out my ass.
Slop and slurry piled into a mound.
Luckily for me I stood my ground.
I thought the job was over but then I needed to wee.
I hoped no one was listening so I sang happy birthday to me.