(It never ceases to amaze me that you can send this stuff through the post. I shall drop out of the screening programme next year after my 74th birthday)
(Return to sender)
(Return to sender)
I gave my letter to the postman
He put it in his sack
He must’ve wondered what the smell was
I didn’t tell him it’s my cack.
My stool sample.
In all its splendour
And all home grown
A nine inch bender
Caused me to moan.
I’d had to wrestle
It fought a lot
I’d had to grab it before it fell in the pot
He brought it back next morning
I was taken aback
I got off with a warning
It made a mess of his sack.
So I took it to the postbox
But still he’d groan and growl
He wasn’t sympathetic to
The test that’s for my bowel.
Next time I’m gonna take it myself
If posting it is gonna be banned
I’m sure that it’s worse to give the lab nurse
My package in her hand.
My stool sample.
A nine inch bender
(10 inch when straight)
A prize contender
Of 6lb weight
My stool sample
I took to test
A fine example
Of John Coopey’s bowel’s best
So then I wait for their feedback
It came the very next day
Lying there on my doormat
My finest DNA.
My stool sample
That 9 inch bender
And all home grown
Returned to sender
I should have known
Returned to sender
Returned to Sender
Returned to Sender
I should have known.
