I hope to die a young man’s death.
Still in my prime and feeling fine,
Not weak and over toiled.
Just quick and clean, not in between
White sheets, confused and soiled.
I hope to die a brave man’s death.
A hero me with city key,
Admired for selfless part.
Senility, please not for me,
That’s no way to depart.
I hope to keep my youthful looks.
My manhood straight, still working great,
Not limp and shrivelled bits.
Big ears, big nose, I don’t want those,
Nor skin that barely fits.
I want the right to choose my fate.
Don’t want a fuss, hop on that bus,
Depart for place unknown.
Heaven? Hell? It’s hard to tell,
As long as it’s like home.
I know I really ask too much.
And have no say at end of day
The way my life is shoved.
But I’ll stand tall and face it all,
Because I know I’m loved.
Why can’t women fart like men?
It really isn’t fair,
To not announce to those around
There’s methane in the air.
A man will trump with dignity,
His head held high with pride.
Embarrassed not by loud retort
To be identified.
Now fuss-less knack the ladies have
Techniques that never fail,
With covert wind that barely moves
A mark on Beaufort scale.
But lack of sound just covers up
Foul breath released, and if
The lady be a beauty
More odorous the whiff.
They’ll pass it off and blame the dog,
Or point toward their man.
He’s had a chicken balti,
Several pints and keema nan.
But let’s just look at facts here,
From Queen to bears in wood,
To save us all exploding
Venting gas is good.
So come on girls, when passing wind
Allow your light to shine,
Give a hearty farty thrump,
And holler, “That one’s mine.”