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The voting regatta has become quite a regular event recently

Boater = Floater = Voter


I’m bored and I’m not going boating today

Your flimsy flotilla is floating away.

Down the stream, where the turds float

And your dream, is a lost hope.

You sail down the sewer

Your fears they are fewer

You hammered all those holes in the hull.

Tending your tiller

Say the stools they are stiller

But the mire looks so murky and dull.

Are you the boater on the river

Or the floater on the sewer?

Am I sinker or swimmer?

My chances are slimmer

If I open my mouth to protest.

Those that won’t listen

Are busily pissin’ in

A place upstream

   coz they think they know best.

Come piddle, piddle in your river

Then come drink, drink from your river

Now you seem so keen

You struggle upstream

To the source troubles and woes.

You float down said stream

Say your life’s but a dream.

How fictitious is your rectum that rows?

Come row, row the rectum

Row, row the rectum

I’m bored and I’m not going boating today,

Your flimsy flotilla is floating away,

Down the stream, where the turds float.

© MOTH 1991