Dave SmithWhite

The Sh*t Song

So it's in my mind every day; in the speech of every twit.
Why can't I ever write or say the coarse word that is 'sh*t'?
That accursed word that is 'sh*t', my boys,
I could not be less coy.
The busted fraud we can't admit,
The bursted gourd of the hypocrite.

We rub in the oils of unction - to necessity we submit.
It's a natural human function that to live we must commit.
While most of us do it daily and others quite a bit,
Some will perch, as others lurch while some prefer to sit.

Have you heard, there are crude words,
While others are polite.
Some are lewd and some are rude,
And a source of great delight.
Have you heard, it's all absurd,
As the prudes like birds take flight.
Or hoard their coins and gird their loins,
To enjoin their feud and fight.

So now, we find out, how it plays, on the tongue of every wit.
The steaming piles we flush away, returns as counterfeit.
The accursed word, that is 'merde', my boys,
No asterisks will I employ.
No feigned outrage in caps deferred.
No single syllable left unheard.
No rank and rotten script deterred,
By the state on nanny's tit,
That would censor, skew, omit.

So it's in my mind in every way; where my thoughts are closely knit.
It reeks cache in a foul bouquet, that some would seek remit.
It's both defined as unrefined, and a descent into the pit.
Whilst decent folk disdain the joke, the stain and shame of it.

Have you heard, or just inferred,
Our precious moral plight.
These soiled words are the mighty turds,
We invoke when we take fright.
Have you heard; are you spurred,
To put it all to right?
Have you heard; are you bestirred,
Or are you just contrite?

So it's in my mind every day; from the butt of every skit.
A line that's more a throwaway, but still counts as a hit.
It's said the world is sh*t, my boys,
And the very word itself enjoys
The odour that befits,
As if it's holy writs.

If it's in my mind, then come what may, I will never quit.
Another name for waste I baste, and roast upon my spit.
I claim it's plainly sh*t, my boys,
This urge to purge, it cloys;
To cut and paste, remove, replace,
Distaste, disgrace - mere noise!

Topic(s) of this poem: culture

Poem Submitted: Saturday, April 7, 2018
Poem Edited: Sunday, April 8, 2018

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Comments about The Sh*t Song by Dave SmithWhite

  • David SmithWhite (4/8/2018 1:49:00 AM)

    OK, I get you don't like it, but why be so rude? If you had a real name, I'd call you out but since you hide behind a craven screen name, my options are limited!

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  • Comment (4/8/2018 1:07:00 AM)

    F..uck..ing sh..it poem. Forced rhyming use blank verse you t...it

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