Viva La Sewage
Bubble, bubble, toilet trouble,
I sit among ceramic rubble.
I just sat down and only farted
when the john by pressure parted
and blew into a thousand bits
before I could relieve my shits.
A rat up through the pipeline
crawled,
intent, it seems, to chew my
balls,
until, down there among the
muck,
he strayed too far and became
stuck.
I pulled up my pants to grab
an axe
and give that fucker forty
whacks.
But how the waters they did
strain!
They could not gurgle down
the drain!
The seams did crack and start
to pop;
I just knew I'd have to call
the shop.
When suddenly, with a roar
like thunder,
the porcelain did split asunder!
Shards flew where I once sat,
along with bloody bits of rat.
The blast left in my ears a
tone
and left my john a stained
war zone.
I knew I'd have to call the
plumber,
and, man, this bill would be
a bummer.
So if you hate clogs and toilet
strewage,
remember the adage, "Viva la
sewage!"
-- © 1992, W.A. Seaver.