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.