On a long, cold winters evening, east of Belvedere
I ate a bowl of chili, brussel sprouts and green beer,
and when it hit my stomach, my colon drew up in fear.
I leaned back in my recliner, turned on some TV,
when I heard a long, low rumble, deep inside of me
I knew right then my dinner, was yearning to be free.

Here i am, on the throne again.
Here I go, colon's in a rage.
Here I sit, reading TV Guide.
Flush the john, turn the page.

Sometimes you can't hear 'em drop, other times you can.
Sitting in the fumes, could this come out of a man.
Dry heaving as I sit there, the smell's more than I can stand.

Here I am, on the throne again.
As I sit here, I feel myself age.
Growing old, reading the TV Guide.
Flush the John, turn the page