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.