All around the smell is mountin',
Awful fart that's a "flat"line.
Please don't smoke or there'll be hind fire;
It's an ill wind, and ill-timed
Is your striking of a light.

Hope the match defies the flint there,
Or there'll be a killing blast.
We'll be roasted in that hind fire,
But if the match stalls,
We'll be blistered if we're gassed.

It don't stall--there's hind fire;
A fireball from hind pyre;
I crawled from the hind fire.

The departed in tombs are planted;
In the flames they burned so slow.
I scowl and then scoot each time a foul wind blows now,
'fore it ignites and blows.
It goes to show: the nose knows.

Roasted in that hind fire,
Ghosted by that hind fire,
Toasted by that hind pyre.

From hind fire, bad way to die:
Under busted sod now they lie.
A guy farts and strikes a light, I'll cry, "Bye!"
Fly from hind fire.