I Wish I Could Sell My Poop

I wish I could sell my poop.
I heard I could make $50 or more for a scoop.

You see some folks are missing a bacterium
and I’d love to be able to help someone.

But alas it is not to be.
At least not according to what I read.

My poo has to be the right shape and size
(and consistency), or otherwise,

it simply won’t fit the bill
to be made into that perfect pill.

But there’s another market out there I guess,
a host of consumers for a pile of BS.

Everyday it gets piled high and deep,
served with a smile to evangelical sheep

from a certain cunning fox’s friends.
It’s like the SOS never ends.

They shove it down your throat like Phi Slama Jama,
until you stink like that poop train stuck in Alabama.

And like Tammy Wynette, you’ll stand by your man
and pile up your plate as high as you can.

If he shouts loud and long enough, it has to be true,
even it looks and smells an awful lot like poo.

Tweet and retweet to your heart’s content.
It doesn’t change the fact that it’s still excrement.

So go ahead, sell your soul and believe all the lying.

It’s just a bunch of feces and I’m not buying.

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