He gets a sh*t-stir, then he farts,
And he prays there ain't no spark. . .butt bean time.
Tries to impinge it and hold it with a sphincter kink.
His plan is blown, so to speak; rumble-forth time--
He feels alright but his neighbors gasp and blink.

They stop outside to get fresh air into their faces
And escape the rhinal pain that's causing them to frown.
These aroma'd agoraphobes seek open spaces.
There was just too much corn and beans he downed.
Gotta get out! Gotta get out! Log-dump sound!

Eew! Dreck spout: gut-vent gorge; it blows squalls; it's forged
By sphincter from in 'im; it whiffs like some vagrant is fryin' skink.
And they must get far or they'll suffer remorse;
If anyone lights up, his face will be burned pink.

Be wary of the guy who is always eating beans,
'cause they can do a job on doo-spillin' pipe.
He'll make a skunky funk gust like angry wind,
Savin' it up till it takes flight,
Wicked sulfur-, wicked sulfurous stink.

In a crowd it explodes; it's a stoolin' sound, the precursor--
Stunk like stench that abounds in haggis or in month-old sole.
They should be banned, these louts who trumpet airs from their can. . .
A taint like pox-bathed lox with mold.
Someone suggests a nose-hold.

And then a man, he falls right down with a mighty groan;
Clearly, smell receptors ain't on the blink.
PU! Bad blight. It's a crime. Who'll atone?
This passing of gas drives you to drink:
Wheezing this sulfur,
Breathing this sulfurous stink.