I stoop to poop
I stoop to poop, jump through hoops,
Constipation is really bad.
A while back I also had piles,
At least now I'm much less sad.
This god I pray, says to me one day,
Shit he shoots like snot from his spigot.
I tried to do the same, an effort quite lame,
I think he's Most Lame, or a lying bigot.
Once my shit is shot, I'll drink my piss hot,
That always soothes a harried mind.
Deep down, brown feces religiously frown,
Not happy in the hindloo karmic bind.
What's more, my asshole gaped and sore,
Passenger shit's hanging halfway out.
Don't know what to do, maybe voodoo,
An african god with major clout.
When I grow old, I'll sell my shit as gold,
It's getting that color I've noticed.
Or maybe I'll go insane, break window panes,
Stand in a corner always pissed.
Forked my tongue! Yes—while eating cowdung,
When in Hind cinema lane to break wind I go.
With dumbness and mass only such fuck has,
An ungulate of hindoo, moving very slow.
My noggin slid right in, in its holy fatass
Shitty TITS, shitty fuckity fuck FUCK.
Bovine ass unholy—basically shit plus gas,
Now a bent fuck, with forked tongue I suck.