There once was a crazy old scientist man
Who would creat a new use for the can
He’d seen cans of milk and cans of creamed corn
Can’s of werid milk for coffee each morn
Cans full of spit from skull chewing spitters
Who live in small trailers and marry their sisters
Cans full of sausage and canned candied yams
Pigs feet and Green Beans, coca and spam
“There is already everything under the sky
Put in cans big and small from tuna to pie
I need something different Something Brand new
Chili? No. Bacon? No. How bout some poo
Poo in a can quite a revelation
But there’s still one thing, one small complication
How will he get the poo into the can
Should he poop in a baggy or poop in his hand?
Should I poop in a small poo scooping shovel
Or Poop in a tall twisty turny type tunnel
Oh what about poopin directly right in
To the cans made of pure recyclable tin
So the man sat and pooped for seven years straight
Sitting on cans from morning till late
Then he had finished his homemade canned poo
In all shapes and colors from fusa to blue
With all the poo canned he now went to the store
All pooped from pooping and practically poor
He said to the man “Here take my poo buy it”
“Heck why not, canned poo? I might try it”
So he stacked up the poo on the shef’s top
Some six years old and some piping hot
But no one expected to sell all the poo
Because the cans numbered one millioin and two
The cans never sold no more than a little
Not even the ones made with pure peanut brittle
But that inventor type scientist man
Went on to invent what we now call the can.
