It's not much fun, Having smoke up your bum, They'd say it'd make me run, But that's the opposite of what its done.
They'd say I'd go much faster, But it's only made me master, How to apply a bottom plaster, Oh, this really is a disaster!
I suppose it serves me right for cheating, And smoking up me seating, And now I've been banned from ever competing, (Even if I could, I wouldn't be repeating).
I know I don't deserve sympathy, But now me rear-end has got it in for me, It's making me limp most miserably, And lose all sense of dignity.
So perhaps this is more of a teaching, That I may instruct in painful preaching, Don't for the smoke go a-reaching, Or you'll end in a firey screeching!