It’s high time I let off some steam.
Before my jeans burst at the seam.
I’m filled with noxious, angry gases.
It doesn’t appeal to the masses.
But it makes a trumpet when it peels.
A ripple in my butt cheeks I do feel.
And when the brown is finally let loose…
It’s the mating call of a chocolate mousse.
My rear jiggles from the furious flapping.
It’s louder than a crowd clapping.
But no applaud or praise will I receive.
This pooping only makes you grieve!
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