O Pisser! my Pisser! Our fearful whiz is done.
The schlong has weather’d every crack, the prize we sought is won,
The tort is near, the tinkle I hear, the people all exulting,
While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring;
But O Pisser! Piss! Piss!
O the bleeding drops of red,
Where on the walk my pissers lies,
Fallen soft and dead.
O Pisser! my Pisser! Rise up and hear the bells;
Rise up— for you the water has sprung—for you the bugle trills,
For you bouquets and ribbon’d wreaths—for you the shores a-crowding,
For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning;
Here Pisser! dear father!
This flow beneath your head!
It is some dream that soon
You will pee in our stead.