Original Granny Dump

O morning fruit of bowel’s rumble,
towards the s-bend’s curves you tumble,
you start out pure sphinctoid extrusion,
and end as poo and water fusion.

O morning poo you come like clockwork,
and stretch my ring like well-hung cock-work,
now like a student of fine arts,
I can only do soft hissing farts.

Morning poo O morning poo,
sometimes you’re rock and sometimes glue,
but each day when I wake there’s you,
O morning friend my morning poo.

O morning poo you leave my starfish,
like a stinking muddy garfish,
down into the dunny’s water,
to swim just like a garfish ought.

O morning fruit of bowel’s churn,
you have a hint of chilli burn,
to twist and turn,
as to the s-bend you sojourn.