The Collection and Irrigation of Navel Dander
Depends on what shirt I've been wearing
The colour, the texture and pile
I may get a mountain or molehill
I know either way it smells vile
My navel resembles a cauldron
A mixture of cottons and fluff
And each time I dip in my finger
It comes back all covered in stuff
And after a dig I can't help but
sniff what my digit produced
I've tried and I've tried to quit it
I give up, this quitting's no use
The button I've got on my belly
designed for a rummage and pick
a haven for my tummy boogies
I bet now you're feeling quite sick.
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