In times of peace, you must poopare for war.
So that is why I’m shittin’ on the floor!
I’m not crazy, don’t you hear that sound?
It’s the sound of brown bombs inbound.
You must be ready for the southerly attack.
So arm yourself with a stain-free crack!
Eventually, you’ll hear the air raid siren.
It signals the brown bombers are flyin’.
They’ll drop payloads that leave a stain.
I’m getting flashbacks of brothers slain.
I recall being holed up behind a barricade.
Lobbing paper rolls from where poop is made.
Like grenades, they explode with a boom.
Followed by a stench that clears the room.
My ally yanks down his pants and takes aim.
Deafening gunfire fart-blast, enemies maimed.
I hear a million empty shells hitting the floor…
I see empty rolls and soiled bodies galore.
So when the shit hits the fan…
Pray you have a back-end plan!
I know first hand Fecal War is Hell.
This old man cannot forget the smell.
My sanity has been stretched to the max.
I’ve witnessed countless soiled slacks.
Suffered at the hands of the brown.
Too many accidental touchdowns.
Never again will I give in to the runs.
I’ll do more than clench tight my buns.
I may have a touch of PTSD.
Poop Turd and Shit Disease.
I don’t mean to poke fun, it’s a real thing.
Monkeys get it, when shit they fling.
But it’s time I laid my stinky-ass trap.
A bucket above a door, filled with crap!
I’ve also lined the loo with clear Saran!
And I’ve electrified all the bedpans!
Now once my defenses have been set…
I’ll take out the doodoo threat!
Cowpat landmines have been placed.
Non-alcoholic, but gets ’em shit-faced!
As my mustard gas fart fog wafts on by…
I can hear them wail, scream and cry.
None of my foes will stand a chance…
Collectively they will shit their pants!
I hear them now, the invading forces.
I take aim with steamy brown sauces!
Finally, I’ll send them my warmest regards.
A wet fart sends ’em to the graveyards!