The Fart Master

Here I sit all broken-hearted,

came to poop, and only farted.

When the aroma hit my nose,

I passed out for God, who knows.

When I finely came back around,

from my workplace came not a sound.

I decided to take a peek,

although I was feeling mighty weak.

As I walked through those darken halls,

my lower bowels began to growl,

and from those cheeks so tightly pinched,

hissed once more that evil stench.

Remembering how this had begun,

I decided I should run.

When I looked back to winced I came,

the hall erupted into flames.

Out a window to the ground,

from there, I watched the place burn down.

That’s when I saw our low-life Boss.

He said a party he would toss,

With all the money he just made,

when the insurance he gets paid.

So, I went to the local bar,

to forget the day so bizarre.

I had a beer and a pickled egg,

my bowel growled, and I prayed.

I held my breath and looked about,

as every soul in there passed out.

I thought that I had better scoot,

I didn’t want to pay this fee.

There was this man in a dark suit.

He said my country needed me.

He said my gas was of high grade.

He said it was my duty.

To collect the best gas made,

I’d stick a tube up my patooty.

They have me eating a diet,

of cucumbers, beans, and pickled eggs.

My gas stopped a race riot.

I’ve taken on the bitter dregs.

If you are some sort of weirdo,

there is just no way that you can win.

I am an American hero.

I’m the greatest that’s ever been.