The challenge is made, the challenge is issued.
I grab my wand wrapped in toilet tissue.
Papa Poosepi has challenged me to a doodoo duel.
So I must poopare the appoopriate fecal fuel.
Stirring the fetid waters in this used loo…
I begin weaving a spell of number two.
Dung of albino bat, brown pebbles from a newt.
And now the gas from my own bottled toot.
All the gross ingredients mixed to poofection.
Inhaling it would lead to a nasty infection.
But this is merely my stinky-ass cologne.
It’s a side business, brewed from my tailbone.
Look here Papa, I ain’t got no time to fight.
I’m too damn busy making perfume from my shite.
May I suggest you take your cane and top hat…
And ask The Count when was the last time he shat?
I hear he’s in hibernation in his dark brown coffin.
By now he must have a truckload of saved turdly toxin.
Be careful of his bite, those fangs are bloody sharp!
If he has his way your cheeks will be spread apart!
Poohaps I’ll lend you a hand, and equip you a magic vial.
It’s a special pootion that will wipe Count Dumpula’s smile.
Use it like holy water, or garlic and so on.
Just be careful cos this shiz is the bomb!
Something tells me there’s an incoming fecal spree…
I guess we’ll all find out in part number three!