'BIG BAD POO'
Sunday morning, in the S-bend, you could see him arrive,
He was nine inches long and two inches wide,
Kind of broad in the center, narrow in the tip,
Bobbing in the bowl like a brown battleship.
With a fair bit of grunting' and a whole lot of pain.
He squeezed through her cheeks with fire and ash,
And into the bowl with one hell of a splash.
As a nice, juicy beefsteak that was medium raw.
Alfalfa and vegetables hung him long,
And two hot cross buns made him awfully strong.
With some added propulsion from a chocolate cake,
And the big, lumpy midriff that bumped in the bowl,
Was the seed from a lichee she'd swallowed whole.
But the skid-marks he left clung on ten days.
This wasn't the end of his journey south,
He collected eight tampons and one dead mouse.
There were curried prawns buried deep in his core,
They brewed that gas they run engines from,
And this floating log became an atom bomb!
Where he lurked in the chemicals 'till they ate his head,
Then with a rush of gas and an almighty bang,
The whole plant went up, and the fat lady sang.
It was leveled to the ground by brown dynamite,
So they inscripted a plaque, and upon it was writ:
"At the bottom of this sewer, lies a big, mean shit."