A girl on a southern plantation Was the product of insemination. So each fathers' day She would send a bouquet To a syringe in a far away nation. Send this poem to a friend 1 A crafty young bard named McMahon Whose poetry never would scan, Once said with a pause, "It's prob'ly because I am always attempting to insert as many extra syllables into the ultimate line as I possibly can." Send this poem to a friend 2 Part 12 of 12 His bunghole was blown back to Sparta, Where they buried the rest of our farter, With a gravestone of turds Inscribed with the words: "To the Fine Art of Farting, A Martyr." Send this poem to a friend 3 Part 11 of 12 The selection was tough, I admit, But it did not dismay him one bit, Then, with ass thrown aloft He suddenly coughed... And collapsed in a shower of shit. Send this poem to a friend 4 Part 10 of 12 It went off in capital style, And he farted it through with a smile, Then, feeling quite jolly, He tried the finale, Blowing double-stopped farts all the while. Send this poem to a friend 5
