Fart a big tune

Stinks break from thy pants
Baking all the dead air shite
Van Camps (beans) are growling
Peas he burned to smell airtight
Then browns beans sound hoot! He’s cooking more
Lets one cook raw, then you’ll hear him

Fart a big tune

Leers sent—he’s torn them
Flurry of a fart brigade
Gas he has risen
Finger pulls could waft a quake
Blows out his beans he’s cooking roars
Listen in awe and youll hear him

Fart a big tune

Brayed bursts and airy “hymns”
Along with flames
Fanned out his grime mess, whoa! That’s wrong
An egg freep, burning smell—buns rolling some
Gut pow, he’s in tune to boom “end” songs (oh no)

Fouling up windows
Ripping out a ruder smell
Behind is revving
Tooting out amounts of smell

And when he farts boom! He’s cooking roars
Rips a “chainsaw” then you’ll hear him
Fart a big tune.