Last night, a couple friends and I dropped by a bar and grill
Where I wolfed down several blazin' wings until I felt quite ill.
To put out the fire cooking in my gut, I guzzled down some beer.
I felt better almost immediately, despite heat-related tears.
As the night wore on, my stomach growled and murmured discontent
And although I didn't quite have to shit, I knew exactly what it meant.
Today at work, I squirmed and squirmed, and shifted in my seat.
The food from last night had journeyed down, and I could clearly feel the heat.
Finally, the inevitable arrived; my butt cheeks released some air.
I alone had to endure the stench, which really wasn't fair.
To say that my farts kind of smelled wouldn't do justice to the funk.
Rather, it's more direct to say that they really fucking stunk.
I sat there just all by myself, enshrouded in my gas.
It's astounding that something so truly vile could have ventured from my ass.
I've farted before, many times in fact, but today's were particularly sour
It's amazing to think that the powers that be could trust me to wield such a power.
Thankfully the food moved on and collected in my colon
And I put an end to the rancid farts by doing some toilet bowling.
Stumble It!
