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Sharts, by Just Kilme
I think that I shall never start
A prayer as lovely as a shart.
A shart whose sticky streak is prest
Against my tighty whitey's best;
A shart that looks at God all day,
And mocks the fact there's Hell to pay;
A shart that sticks to underwear
And lingers long upon the chair;
Upon whose linens brown has lain;
Aromatic stripes remain.
Prayers are made when our souls part,
But only arseholes make a shart.
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La propriété, c'est le vol ...
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