The dunny was her favourite place,
she lived there, ugly was her face.
You see they sprinkle her, to wit
ontop of what the Yanks call sh**t.
You know that once you slash and burn,
put the remains into an urn,
or use it in the Dunny then
the stuff is envious of men.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem