Many a time I have sweated with anxiety, When worried about a fart, I hope they don't misplace propriety, For this I tremble with a start. It wasn't me who cut the cheese, But maybe they'll think it was, Don't let them see me please God please, But the bastard does what he does. Everyone around suspects me clearly, With beads of sweat running down my nose, It was too late for what I discovered just merely, The real culprit striking an agrandizing pose. So when farts occur I've a new tactic at hand, I make myself disappear, Out of the room or off the land, To avoid denounciation as stinky bombardier.


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