I saw Bubba scoopin' pork and beans
from our Christmas smorgasbord
into bowl so cheery red,
while I was sneakin' Pap's eggnog
into my sippy cup last night.
Mama didn't see him goin' back
to refill again and again.
Brown sugar and molasses glaze
was just too hard to resist.
I saw Bubba wolfin' down pork and beans
from bowl so cheery red
at our Christmas smorgasbord,
while I was guzzlin' eggnog
from my sippy cup last night.
Before long, pungent vapors
exposed his little caper,
as he filled the room with plumes of fumes
that had everyone gasping for air,
like mustard gas left over
from the battlefields of World War I.
I heard Bubba passin' gas,
as he pranced around the smorgasbord
playin' aromatic rhapsody
on his intestinal trombone,
while I sought more of Pap's eggnog
for my sippy cup last night.
Somebody called the terror squad,
who ordered us to evacuate the premises
so they could eradicate his nemesis.
And that, my friends, is why
we cancelled Christmas celebration
at our house this year.
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