My eyes start to water, And soon they begin to smart, You've entered the room, To the roar of a fanny fart. Like a couple of clapping seals, In taste, composition and aroma, Your worst case of front bum wind, Puts me in a coma. Your flaps have the suction, Of a welly full of tripe, Squelching like a gay man, Sucking off Michael Stipe. I swear I saw an ewok, Grinning between your legs, Belching loudly with a smell Like he'd been eating eggs.