Butt...I'm King Tut!




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Oh, Mummy, what's a King to do

when there's no paper near the loo?

These bandages are all I've got,

to wipe my bottom's jungle rot!
 

Not only am I now a corpse,

guess I should use some bloody corks,

to block my gushing derrière,

there's no stopping it, not a prayer!

 

Porcelain throne calls out my name,

my rep now tarnished with the stain,

of ancient crap and gooey stuff,

as I unravel, boy, it's tough!

 

No one near to change my dressing,

the flow must go on,  I'm guessing!

Ankhesenamun, my dear wife,

forsook me in the afterlife.

 

Doused now with my body fluids,

rotting here among the Druids,

I'm filthy mummified remains,

a tattered, jumbled wad of skeins.

 

So, Mummy, here's a tip for you;

before you sit upon the loo

to drop your stinking load of crap,

make sure, at least, you're tightly wrapped.

 

If it's just flatulence you've got,

and you get queasy on the pot,

have something near to wipe your butt...

or you'll unwind like Old King Tut!

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