Mr. Simon, we’re so very sorry.

It was a slow day
The food I was eating
Had me wanting to pull over off-road
There was a sharp blast
A ripping of some underwear
The bomb in the underoos
Was wired to that burrito

These are the days of intestinal discomfort
This is the colon letting fly
The way the whole mess coils ‘round the toilet bowl
The way it looks to us all
The way it looks like a crappy constellation
Like a negative image of the sky
These are the days of cheese-filled jalapeños
And don’t cry baby, don’t cry
Don’t cry

It was a hot wind
And it swept across the bathroom
And it curled into my nostrils and my mouth
And the porcelain
Scaring all the children
The mothers and the fathers
Would prefer an old outhouse

These are the days of intestinal discomfort
This is the colon letting fly
The way the whole mess coils ‘round the toilet bowl
The way it looks to us all, oh yeah
The way it looks like a crappy constellation
Like a negative image of the sky
These are the days of cheese-filled jalapeños
And don’t cry baby, don’t cry
Don’t cry

It’s a stand-alone bowl clean
It’s porcelain’s shiny sheen
It’ll clean whatever you do even if you just eat pop tarts
The sensor is magical and the timer is art
The scrubbing bubbles
Give your toilet cleaning a kick start

And I believe
These are the days of fresh scents in your bathroom
Fresh scents in your bathroom somewhere
Staccato signals trumpet your occupation
A counter-weapon for your funky airs
But as for hairs oh no way

These are the days of intestinal discomfort
This is the colon letting fly
The way the whole mess coils ‘round the toilet bowl
The way it looks to us all, oh yeah
The way it looks like a crappy constellation
Like a negative image of the sky
These are the days of cheese-filled jalapeños
And don’t cry baby, don’t cry
Don’t cry

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