(with apologies to Henry Reed)
The duvet rippler, sinus crippler
the paint peeler, room clearer,
the stink, the stench, the phew, the pong,
the blame the dog, I’ve done nothing wrong.
The dump gas, the trump blast,
the clap your hands on your arse and run
fast.
The whiff, the niff, the hum, the Ninja,
the can’t believe you had that in yer.
Cabbage and onions, beans and lentils
Parfum de pruneau, bouquet de Bruxelles,
the one when you wish you’d stronger cheek
muscles.
The fumer, the fouler, the auld reeker,
a week old kipper would smell sweeter,
the industrial strength Odoreater eater
that ranks eleven on the olfactometer.
The eggs
gone rotten, the flobbery bottom,
the ones where you’d swear your pants were
ripping,
the ones caused by a danger to shipping.
The bog breaker, tree shaker, dead waker,
the global warmer, the three minute warner,
the mile long stench of a night soil barge
and worst of all the Nigel Farage. © Peter Doyle 2014
Never trust a fart
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