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The Shits

Christ, I've got the fucking shits,
I've really got the runs.
My bowels, they move like Krakatoa
Or twenty cannon guns.
My ringpiece is as hot as hell
And grips me like a spanner.
I bet you it could fry an egg
Or light up a havana.

Oh, I could blame the vindaloo
And I could blame the bhajis
But true to say it's me who ought to
Answer all the charges.
And as I burn
I ought to learn
But know I never will.
For Friday night
Will come again
And I'll eat that same swill.

But for now
I'll shift around
Uneasy in my seat.
The toilet's near
My route is clear
Should I need to retreat.
So please don't curse
If in this verse
I make a quick departure
I'll be back
Minus my cak
Unlike Jeffrey Archer.

At least I am not feeling sick
Or got a bad hangover.
And if I take Imodium™
Then this thing will soon be over.
In fact already I feel good,
My arse now feels the way it should
I think that I could walk OK
And skip and jump and shout hooray
I only feel the urge to fart
Excuse me, it's about to start.
"Pffffft," Hey, look what I can do!
"Shhplurt!" Oh shit! I've followed through...

Mike Stools (b. 1962)