Quickly, grab your coffee.
It’s time to make sour toffee.
Take a big swig, take a huge gulp.
Insides work it into a brown pulp.
Stir all that shit up, mix it all around.
Bowels churn a sick merry-go-round.
Find your bowl and drop your pants.
Squeeze it out, but don’t take a glance.
The sight is ghastly, sight is woeful.
Last thing you want is a brown eyeful.
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