Ala bam a
I'll tell you a story 'bout old PoetWheel,
Of a great farting contest at old Dodger Field.
Where all the best farters of all different sizes,
Compete in a contest for various prizes.
Some tighten their bumcheeks and fart up the scale,
To compete for a trophy and a barrel of ale,
Whilst others whose rectums are bigger and strongest,
Compete in the section for loudest and longest.
Now, this special event had gone on for years,
And the betting was even on old Balladeer,
For it appeared in the evening edition,
That this guy's rear end was in perfect condition.
Now old LongJohn Silver had a perfect backside,
Half a forest of hairs with a wart on each side,
And he fancied his chance of winning with ease,
Having trained on a diet of cabbage and beans.
The Judge had arrived and ascended the stand,
And thus he addressed this remarkable band:
"The contest is on as is shown on the bills,
We've precluded the use of injections and pills.'
Poetwheel arrived amid roars of applause,
And promptly proceeded to pull off his drawers,
For though he'd no chance in the farting display,
He had the best looking rear you'd see on this day.
Now, young Mr. Toerag was backed into place,
Though he'd often been placed in the deepest disgrace,
By dropping a fart on a Sunday in Church,
And disturbing the sermon of Reverend McGurch.
The guys lined up at the signal to start,
LongJohn won the toss, and he took first fart.
The people around stood in silence and wonder,
While his wireless transmitted gale warnings and thunder.
Now Balladeer reckoned nothing of this,
He'd had some weak tea and was all wind and piss,
He took up his place and his butt opened wide,
But unluckily crapped, and was disqualified.
The young Mr. Toerag was called to the front,
and started by doing a wonderful stunt,
He took a deep breath, and clenching his hands,
He blew the whole roof off the spectator stands.
That left Poetwheel who shyly appeared,
And smiled at the audience who loudly now cheered,
And though it was reckoned his chances were small,
He ran out a winner, outfarting them all.
With his hands on his hips, he stood farting alone,
And the crowd stood amazed at the sweetness of tone,
And the judge now agreed without question or pause,
And said, First place to Poetwheel, now pull up your drawers!"
But with muscles well-tensed and legs wide apart,
He started a final and glorious fart,
Beginning with Chopin, and ending with Wing,
He went right up the scale to God Save the King!