I Shit Your Pants - Goratory

Lysergic hits that make you have to take a shit

A quack chemist, we’ll call him Dr. Coprophagia

On a quest for Enlightenment with a fetish for excrement

The latest batch is finally cooked, he calls this blotter «farter»

The next step is some subjects to test

A filthy group of hippies who are acid-obsessed

Burning man will do

They all smell like shit to begin with

The experiment is flawless

No one will catch on

The day the drum circle wnt wrong

Blowing your mind, tripping face on a tasty jam

While you soil those scondhand, ludicrous patchwork pants

A sea of dreadlocks and shit-stained Birkenstock’s

Crystal-selling, glass-blowing, live art, dope-smoking

Tar-toking, business hippies' ass exploding

A half hour in, the cramps will begin

Battling farts, a war being waged that you will not win

Was it the mushrooms made into tea?

Was it the blow?

Was it the E?

I am the doctor, y’all know me

I just shit your pants!

The desert sun ripens rot in a hazmat nightmare

Flower power needs a shower hour

Incoherent lunatics covered in waste

At last, the climax

A wooden idol towering ten stories high

Ready to be set ablaze

Bring out the butane

No one considered the amount of the methane