Thoughts of Yore
There's nothing like a pressured toot
to get you out of bed.
The moving sheets, the rustled beat;
of flatulence ahead.
That very sound to wake you up
and start your day off right.
With little push to shake you up
and mark your way in flight.
That everything you go to do
will be as night before.
When all you ate was beans and franks
and thoughts were farting yore.
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