My friend just bought a fctory that manufactures turds
For people who are sick of being shit upon by birds
you can thorw them at the pigeons as they sit upon the ledge
Or lob them at the blackbirds that keep singing in your hedge
But here's a word of warning, if you throw them in the street
Be careful tehre's no-one about, in case the two should meet
For just you try explaining, why you're standing in the road
With turds inside your pocket, and another bucket load
Even if you're very good, at making an excuse
Police will take a detailed look at why you're on the loose
Just go about your business, be careful what you hit,
The last thing anyone else expects
Is a face full of well made shit.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem