Leaving Strathconon (by Rona)

 

We're the flatulent ones, not the last in the line

You've your father's arse, and I have mine

And all of our gases turn pungent and smell

In the end they mean nothing, cos my arse isn't well

 

Right here's the gaseous source, and it flows out to the world

And the heart of Caledonia is choking in its flood

Was there methane in our vapours, did we light them in the dark

Was everything we ever needed always right here in a fart

 

We let out a hundred ripe ones, that's the way it's always been

I was evicted from my hometown, with all my kith and kin

In the war of the fumes we conquer and growl

While the farts keep fermenting and brew in the bowel

 

After the raging flame, the arse-hairs burn slow

We're farting, farting, farting, till there's no gas left to go

The wets, the round and fruity ones, the silent, the loud

The squeaks, the pops, the bubblers, of every type we're proud

 

There's a still, hazy, gas cloud, and it covers Loch Tay

And all the trees across the valley they wither and decay

I've felt too many tail-lights, didn't need to say goodbye

We're just souls across a stinking world in a distant fartlit night

 

Chorus

Please believe me

Something in me died

That's why my farts smell bad

When you're walking behind

 

Please believe me

Something in me died

Leaving Strathconon

'Cos they've banned my behind