During The Great War I loved only Minnie,
A young girl who had captured my heart,
Yet Minnie had one grave affliction,
My God how that poor girl could fart.
Upon me suffering a wounding,
As a nurse she tended to me,
Yet as she bent over to fix me,
A fart that girl did let free!
It fair acted as an anaesthetic,
Of that you can be most assured,
But as I returned to my senses,
Minnie let out a fart that quite roared.
Even the matron got angry,
For her it was the last straw,
She said, “Minnie, you’re fired you can’t work here,
Yet on the stage a great crowd you might draw.”
So Minnie left Ypres for Blighty,
And took her fart act to Hammersmith Palais,
In no time she became rich and famous,
Were it invented she’d have been on the telly.
Of course my Minnie still loved me,
And we shared a fine home in Stepney,
Though I’ll never forget proposing marriage,
She farted whilst I was on one knee.
I’ve always aspired to be a poet,
Writing sonnets and prose for my girl,
Although I’ve lost my way because of Minnie,
And what her beautiful bottom doth expel.
So sadly I’m stuck in a quagmire,
No poet will I ever be,
Since the day gorgeous Minnie first farted,
My mojo has deserted me.
No woman should fart like a docker,
One who’s lashed up with just pie and mash,
In the end I guess it barely matters,
For my Minnie brings home so much cash!