|
Soaky in the pooper |
|
Standing in a stupor by the tank |
|
Better call the super |
|
As I grip the towel rack for strength |
|
Studied all these cracks before |
|
Stuff the towel beneath the door |
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Crawling up all upon the floor |
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And wait for it to pass |
|
Hear the faucet dripping |
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As his brain is slipping into mud |
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Man I think he's tripping |
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Better pull his head out of the bowl |
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And as the ceiling starts to bleed |
|
He carefully begins to read |
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The label on the toilet seat |
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It's like warning of some kind |
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As his face turns bluish |
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And his eyes roll back into his head |
|
The funeral was Jewish |
|
All the mourners traveled in one car |
|
They remembered he had said |
|
You're never lonely when you're dead |
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And as the final rights were read |
|
The angels start to sing |
|
Soaky in the pooper |
