The urine jet’s mighty impressive
as it shoots twenty feet in the sky
he fires off two golden arches
and wails as he wees in your eye
The flailing and gesticulation
makes changing his nappy quite tough
As if forty three million poppers to pop
Isn’t torturing Dad quite enough
It’s “Oh God” O’Clock in the morning
You can hardly believe you’re awake
And a spectacle full of your baby son’s wee
Is a challenging shower to take
without cursing or muttering naughties
which you’ve promised your wife you won’t do
So you wipe super-fast
in case cleaning his arse
Unleashes a torrent of poo