Flying on the clouds in a silver tin
can,
creating noxious fumes, waften'em with my hand,
The longer i'm cramped shall the flavor grow stronger,
passengers around me can standzit no longer'
a restroom visit my problem would shurly resolve,
but i just keep farting, silent gaseous bombs,
a floating air biscut my gift to all,
while the passengers hold their breath
looking
|
