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This poem/song was the deliberate act of a very sick, sad, perverse mind at 3.00 AM in the morning on a very dark night. An equally perverted friend who shall remain nameless at this point in time had inspired it and asked me to complete the song as a joke.

Unfortunately for the general public, I did complete the song and have performed it by request at various comedy venues. To my complete shocked surprise and horror, it has become a popular item on the agenda.

I include it here so that maybe some others can learn it and perform it and save my singing voice for the lower bowels of anonymity where it belongs.

(To the tune of Big Bad John)

Copyright; Mark Feldman
(Admittedly) one sick night in 1998

From his book 'Visions of the Quill'

Sunday morning, in the S-bend, you could see him arrive,
He was nine inches long and two inches wide,
Kind of broad in the center, narrow in the tip,
Bobbing in the bowl like a brown battleship,
Big Poo.


Big Poo...oo.
Big Bad Poo.
Big Poo...

He emerged from the bowels of Lady Jane,
With a fair bit of grunting' and a whole lot of pain.
He squeezed through her cheeks with fire and ash,
And into the bowl with one hell of a splash.
Big Poo.


Well, he started his life the day before,
As a nice, juicy beefsteak that was medium raw.
Alfalfa and vegetables hung him long,
And two hot cross buns made him awfully strong.
Big Poo.


Six glasses of wine lubricated his wake,
With some added propulsion from a chocolate cake,
And the big, lumpy midriff that bumped in the bowl,
Was the seed from a lichee she'd swallowed whole.
Big Poo.


It took fourteen flushes to send him away,
But the skid-marks he left clung on ten days.
This wasn't the end of his journey south,
He collected eight tampons and one dead mouse.
Big Poo.


This was Just the beginning of something' more,
There were curried prawns buried deep in his core,
They brewed that gas they run engines from,
And this floating log became an atom bomb!
Big Poo.


Well, he snuck through a valve at the treatment shed,
Where he lurked in the chemicals 'till they ate his head,
Then with a rush of gas and an almighty bang,
The whole plant went up, and the fat lady sang.
Big Poo.


Well, there wasn't a whole lot left of the site,
It was leveled to the ground by brown dynamite,
So they inscripted a plaque, and upon it was writ:
"At the bottom of this sewer, lies a big, mean shit...
...Big Poo."

RPT. CHORUS (fading...)

Copyright; Mark Feldman
(Admittedly) one sick night in 1998



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