Saturday Night Farter.

Move it on up… Shake it on down… funky music…
Let's boogie...won't you play it gain

I have to spend the day in polite company
Have to keep up those social graces all the while
But every now and then I begin
To feel the need to break wind
I have grit my teeth, put on a smile and grin
I have to press my cheeks together
And force it up inside
I often have to do this several times
Till in the end I can't hide the tears in my eyes

I like to eat brussell sprouts and baked beans
But they give me a problem all the time
When I find myself in social situations
Where letting it out would seem to be a crime
But tonight I'm gonna let it all hang out
Tonight I'm gonna break free of those chains
Put on my best disco trousers
And tight underpants
And head on down to where that funky music plays

Yes, tonight, I'm going to fart the night away,
I'm going to let my wind go free
Gonna be a WMD (can't you feel the blast ?)
And, if ever I should be accused
I'll blame it on my new shoes
When I play my trump card at last
And later on, if I have a few drinks, I might light my fire
Then I'll sing this song again but this time I'll sing it higher

Although the music plays so very loud
Won't you play it again…
Above it all you still might hear a noise
Still I'll put the blame on somebody else
As I've learned how to throw my voice
Sometimes it might be silent but deadly
(All around ground zero is a no go zone)
But by then I'll be over on the other side
Let out another loud one, and say it's my new ringtone…

Yes, tonight, I'm going to fart the night away,


Saturday night I'll be down the club
Listen to the music go rub a dub dub
Gonne boogie on down get on that scene
I'm a wind machine if you know what I mean
But I always make sure I'm in the right key
My posterior trumpet's tuned to G
Get in that groove, feel that vibe
Hear the funky music from my backside
If you're down wind you stand no chance
A victim of my flatulence
But I tell you now it's better than sex
Let one go start building up for the next
I'll save this one let it out as a roar
As I blast my way through the Hallelujah Chorus
And will Simon Cowell give me his vote
As I play bum note upon bum note
Listen to my friends when they all say
I talk out of my backside anyway
But I don't think my crime is heinous
Just listen to the poetry from my anthology
Don't hold it in it's bad for you
And a man's gotta do what a man's gotta do
And if my language you suspect
When I blow off it's politically correct
I hope I've made my meaning plain
So I'll sing my song again…
I hope you'll sing along with me, after the count of 1,2,3…

Yes tonight....

I need a drink after that - Bee Gees must have had operations!