Oh commode! So sassy an' bold.
To you I confess and to you I hold
So dear and so near my ass on your cold
Porcelain mold.
Unto you I give my worn-out bread,
And my used stale beer nuts from that fella, Fred.
My god, my porcelain god, I wish I was dead!
Unto thee I do cry, my face turning red.
Was it the lemon drop shots at "The Establishment?"
Maybe it was the Long Island teas that were sent
Followed up by that Maddog; just given, not lent.
All this and more -- wow, was I bent.
But please, commode, please!
Let me give you these fees.
As a token, also do have these chickpeas.
And just for good measure, here comes some green cheese!
Ah, now that it's time for my offering to be over.
I just want to tell you, you don't smell like clover.
It's so not your fault. Nor is it Rover's.
But sheesh man, let's flush the hors doovers!
Send it swirling and sliding right out of my place.
Flush it all down without any trace.
Go toilet go! Please hurry! Make haste!
I wish to speak to Your Heinous, up close and personal. Let's interface.
