'Wind' Poem by Warren Brown

I have a little tummy ache
That stole up quiet like
I wonder how I'd make
It go away as - "on yer bike"

It comes from overeatin'
And takin' not enough of water
Its all bound up and overheatin'
I think I need to go, really ‘orter

‘Cos when she comes…….
There'll be a blast like thunder
And I don't think I ‘orter be at Mum's
It might well be me greatest blunder!

Now this little ditty seems to flow
Without the slightest bit of trouble
Not like the pain that ails me down below
And soon I'll be on me knees, bent double.

Eight glasses of water a day
That's what the Missus ordered
Strike me Fat! Its easy to say
Drink it up and you'll be sorted!

I'm not a bloody camel!
Its winter and I ‘aven't felt the need
I'm a hairy breastless mammal
As for water, I've not the greed.

Should I risk the possibility of all this water
Later, leakin' out from places that it shouldn't?
What if I was caught short, like, it would sorter
Be difficult and hard to explain now, couldn't?

But, I suppose it may just help
Were I to down a gallon of water
Would it do any harm if I give a little whelp?
Strike me Fat! I feel I really should, I really ‘orter!