The dreck should head west
To the sea.
But the water's staying brown
Because things aren't flushing down.
Call the plumber man,
It's his occupation.
If you're lucky he'll be there
Sometime near when he says;
He's used to dealing with heads.

Babbling cistern, snake it,
Bubbling cistern, snake it.
It's lined with dung;
He's got to get it unsprung.

Here come those nasty fanny winds again.

Gives handle slow pokes with his hand--
Still this water really smells.
Can this piss go? Can't yet tell.
He says, "I'll blow it now
With a cherry-bomb spasm;
I've pondered, and it's the way
To set the blockages free
And open the way to the sea.
I'll light the fuse and count to three."

Blast in the cistern breaks it,
Busted, the cistern--breakage.

The piles of dung
Back into the house have sprung.

My friend says, "Oh no, this is rotten and ranky,
And the house has a buyer
Who has money to burn,
And I now fear that the cistern
Resembles a broken urn."

Backwelling cistern. Oh sh*t!
Backflowing cistern. Oh sh*t!
House mired in dung,
Just as agent, buyer come.