Everyone’s angry cos I’ve been farting up a storm.
Do I need to take a dump or is this just the norm?
It’s as if a brown cloud hangs over my head.
Filling my nostrils with a sense of dread.
The southerly forecast advances to attack.
Wind blowing furiously from my crack.
From below comes thunderous blasting.
Scent tells I’ve not been fasting.
In the throne I drop the brown hail.
Choppy seas are no good to sail.
Inside this bowl a tidal wave swells.
And carries a terrible deep-sea smell.
An odious ocean pours from my cheeks.
And erupts with a bellowing shriek.
Dangerous are The Seas of Doodoo Dread.
So don’t go sailing on your bedspread!