But as he made his getaway the seeds of doom were planted
It seemed that Farquhar had forgot those clagnuts were enchanted,
And none too pleased at being ripped timely from their master,
The clagnuts grew and grew in size as Farquhar tried to run faster.
They swelled and burst out of his grip and leapt onto the floor.
Inexorably they gained in height 'til they were six foot four.
They blocked old Farquhar in his path, he knew not what to do
As he realised that he'd been trapped by five huge piles of poo.
The poos were huge with pointy teeth, and quite a scary growl.
Farquhar hit them with a spade, and poked them with a trowel,
But still the clagnuts grew and grew, the rate was quite alarming,
No good to either man or beast (but rather beneficial to farming).
Farquhar turned but could not run, the poos were getting bigger.
He wished he'd brought some dynamite, or maybe a JCB Digger,
But pretty soon they squashed him flat, he drew his final breath.
What a way to go! How terribly cruel! Farquhar was Clagnutted to death.
And so, dear reader, finally the moral of the tale -
Heed our words and be assured our advice will not fail.
Next time that you feel the urge to go up to a king
And yank his regal clagnuts from his majesty's bum strings,
Just don't! Believe us. Don't. For real. It really isn't worth it.
You could disturb some evil power - you don't want to unearth it.
Royalty simply never shits, this has been known too well,
And so their clagnuts all get summoned from the depths of hell.
This poem was composed at pooclub.
The Clags Of War
Part 1 2 3 4 5 6
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