Tryin’ pryin’ your nates,
You ain’t emptied for too long.
From your core, no outpouring;
Only aerated pong
From your derrière seeping,
But no T paper you shred.
A pursed sphincter at the column
Where dreck is usually shed.

If you like piña colonics
Or coffee shot up then drained;
If you’re weary of yogurt
And your innards are pained.
If you’d like baked-in fudge to take flight—
Dungal douche, bung agape,
I’ll get the sludge from that nook poured;
Shite will freely escape.

You’ve got a kink up in there, matey;
Out’s no brown; you’re turning green.
We’ll get that dry hole achy
From “waterfallin’” like you have never seen!
Then unrolling the paper
As out comes surgin’ a scad.
When you are done, you will know it:
Gland that excretes will be glad.

Let’s try a piña colonic
And coffee shot up then drained.
Wheatgrass is a fine health food
That up there can be trained.
You’re going to lose your blockage sorrow soon
And cut through all this dreck waste:
Out comes tar-like macadam,
Goose-like, dumped in great haste.

It’s abated, your thighs soaked,
But the blockage, erased.
There’s a few piles from these big lumps
That have been purged and effaced.
You’ve dumped that stone fudge that fazed ya;
It is shed, blown, run through.
We’ve fomented a movement—
Like a sled it slid through you.

Do you like piña colonics?
The fetid slot is now drained.
You were feeling the motion.
Bubbling, drained like champagne.
If you like shakin’ mud that’s in tight,
Flip that doo like an ape.
It’s a great way to outpour;
Bum is free. . .crap escape.