High Fibre Harry
He is the baked bean tester
And he works the graveyard shift
He isn’t very fragrant
Now I think you’ve got the drift
For he’s frequently exploding
All the people call him names
And it’s ever so important
He avoids all naked flames
His underpants bear witness
Each emission leaves a blot
But they’ll be back on tomorrow
They’re the only pair he’s got
Each Friday it’s his bath night
He lies soaking, feeling snoozy
Relaxes rectal muscles
To create his own Jacuzzi
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