Fly like a bird and sting like a bee.
I find it glorious to sit and ***.
Joy is in me soon you’ll see.
Why is it that I love to ***?
Rushing, roaring, as I release
the trickling sounds just bring me peace.
The john on which I rest my ****
stands tall, white, and strong.
By the time the flow has gone
the peaceful trickle will have greened the lawn.
Now you see how free it is too ***,
but don’t forget about ***’s friend poo.
The yellow Niagara that from me
once flowed has run dry,
but soon enough I will be out of this rut,
with a gift for John from my moon white ****.