You know that when I must dump poo,
An outhouse trip is my desire.
Got no running-water loo,
So to keep the stench from rising higher:
Gotta tame it. . .lime my mire,
Gotta tame it. . .lime my mire.
Dicey to ignite my mire.

And when evacuation's through,
I try not swallow or respire,
My lunch I've woes I might lose
And my gut become a food denier.
Gotta tame it. . .lime my mire,
Gotta tame it. . .lime my mire.
Light need to ignite my mire.

And when evacuation's through,
I've white powder that I require. . .
Ply it onto number 2s
And lunge quickly from that spot. . .retire.
Gotta tame it. . .lime my mire,
Gotta tame it. . .lime my mire.
Gelignite might light my mire.

You know that when I must pump doo,
An outhouse trip is my desire.
What's a hillbilly to do
After voiding region that's on fire?
Gotta tame it. . .lime my mire,
In the waste pit. . ..lime my mire.
Too dicey to light my mire,
Too dicey--I might expire,
I'm an Appalachian crier,
I've got crapalation ire,
That I've gotta lime my mire.

[close on sharp expellant explosion that sounds like a snare-drum rimshot, followed by organ transcription of Bach's Fartita No. 2]