Our poops are filled with juice,
Our poops are filled with cream,
We struggle with constipation,
As we sit atop the toilet and scream.

Deciding where to poop...
Wondering where to pee...
Stealing one last baggie,
One last snack before we let it free.

We clutch at foaming poopies,
We steal away from others toilets,
We hurt inside...and scream sometimes
The voice behind the fart.

The voice behind the fart you see
Is truely how hard we push
It tells of those constipations
Though not pooped are very real.

And in this time of throwing up
The chunks are made of gold,
The voice comes out...
The voice is heard...
We sit...we push...we grunt and squeal
And a poop moves slowly out by far.