The fartin' queen in her latrine,
Was eating a can of those black pinto beans.
On her back seat were hashes,
Those brown marks made from the gas fumes out her bum.
Couldn't see through the ventin' gas,
I saw the flames, when she lit her ass.
She swallowed those beans down with her spoon,
Her farts got runny,
And that got started the fume.

Funk lady gassed her pants,
And with a candle by her bum.
Lit them off with a match-stick,
Each and every one.
Funk lady needs an air-wick,
'Cause her jock funk make you ralph.
She'd so have to agree,
If she smelled herself.

It smelled like charred old green pot pourri,
The rumble I heard,
Was Richter range of three.
Her guts churned up, made wide her crack,
Her cheeks were spread and the farts
Blew me back.
She spread her can, it was secretin' this goo,
That flatuous pulse nearly snapped my neck in two.
Hot fire ice, it burned my eyes like mace,
Turned my back, but forgot to cover up my face.

Funk lady took a stance,
And cleared her channel with her thumb,
Then donned some heavy plastic,
Then she pulled the plum.
Funk lady sprayed wet brick,
And it shot out through her valve.
It strained so hard to get free,
That she pooed herself.

I heard her groan, felt this awful dread,
It started deep and smelled like burnin' rubber tread.
Then I remember the strangest fume,
And how it smelled just before the big boom.
The gas reaked out her bottom it did pass,
Launchin' like fission when it reached a critical mass.
The next thing I heard was a deaf'ning roar,
Funk lady's silouette outlined the hole in the door.

Funk lady gassed her pants,
And with a candle by her bum.
Lit them off with a match-stick,
Each and every one.
Funk lady needs an air-wick,
'Cause her jock funk make you ralph.
She'd so have to agree,
If she smelled herself.