F#m D E
DAN'S BIG LOG
He went for a
meal with the posh in-laws, to ask for their daughter's hand (again).
Tea on the patio, croquet on the lawn, but Dan's rectal passage starts
to strain (again).
He sits down to eat, clenching his cheeks, he wonders which knife
and fork to use.
Then its: 'Excuse me, please' as he leaves his seat,
And he pegs it up the stairs to find the loo.
He parks his
breakfast, fills the bowl, uses up half a toilet roll.
He flushed and he flushed, but it wouldn't go,
It must have weighed over half a stone.
He flushed and he flushed but it wouldn't shift,
He couldn't leave it lying in the bog.
So he rolled up his sleeves, picks up the shit,
He thinks he can disguise it as a log.
He opens the
window, takes his aim,
And chucks it in the bushes over there.
He hopes somebody else will get the blame,
He goes back down to finish his hor d'oeuvres.
He wanders in, begging their pardon, (remembering to fasten up his
But everybody's staring out at the garden
At the steaming turd that's landed on the flags.
©1986 The Macc
d’oeuvres’ - (pronounced ‘orderves’) - prawn cocktail or
- (pronounced ‘krokay’)- something posh people do when they
a bit like knitting, but with big hammers.