My experience right now, in the loo of this gig,
is like that of a pig
taking the first plunge
into the glorious mud left by your clunge. 
It’s too late now, the moistness has clung
in a perfect U shape around my bum.
Your waste juices grasp my repulsed skin,
as I wonder who’s wee I’m sitting in. 

I imagine you toppled or wobbled while you widdled. 
I imagine you giggled and wibbled while you piddled. 
I imagine you thought while you tried to contort your uncontrollable body into some kind of steady unwobble that your aim was spot on. 
Spot fucking on!
And no fucking germ or grim tinge is gonna get anywhere near your miraculous minge. 

I’m sorry for your uncontrollable vagina, 
and that you can’t control it when it’s behind ya. 
I’m sorry I have to be so blunt,
about your inability to steer your own cunt. 
I really am sorry that it’s come to this,
and I have to write about the issue of you having a piss. 
But unfortunately it is a fact,
that some girls can’t control their twat. 

Unless you’re a mermaid or a fish
who’s worked out how to walk on land, get to a gig, have a shot or three then go for a pee. 
Unless you’re a nipper who can’t control the direction of your kipper 
or have just drowned in some sea then come to a gig desperately needing a wee. 
Unless you have a condition certified by your physician. 
Unless you have a poorly front bum and have come with a note from your mum.
Keep it fucking neat. 
Don’t piss on the bloody seat!