My ass went away and I haven’t a clue.
Turned around one day and-oops!-no wazoo.
My butt and I were firmly attached.
He followed me around and loved to be scratched.
At times when my mood took a downward route,
He brightened my day with a playful toot.
For heavens sake, I miss the old bum.
Where do you suppose I’ll put my thumb?
My ass got canned, and I’m feeling crummy.
How come that memo didn’t get to my tummy?
If told to put it up my ass,
I will sadly say I have to pass.
In his day he held my wallet on high
Now it droops down below my thigh.
Today, as I wander the shops and malls,
It swings right and left like an old elephant’s balls.
Not much to look at, so I’ve been told.
To me he was worth his weight in gold
Phooey on those who say he was lead
And the principle place to look for my head!
I went to the doctor and this he did say,
When men get old their butts go away.
He puffed himself up and said with a sigh,
“You’ll have to kiss your ass good-bye.”
As I left the office I was quite perplexed.
I said to my dear Willie, I hope you’re not next.