The Great Coruisk Shit Fountain







(to the tune of “The Big Rock Candy Mountain”)



On a bright spring day, in the month of May,

Ray came in a-calling,

The turds won’t go, it’ll overflow,

And the smell is quite appalling.

We all went out, and had a scout

Around all with a clatter

And all the pipes were filled with types

Of compacted faecal matter




Oh the cursing on the breeze makes the sailors freeze

And echoes round the mountain

So sings the throng the timeless song

of the Great Coruisk Shit Fountain.



So we did prod, with fishing rod,

Inside the pan with vigour

No sound was heard and still the turd

Sat there looking bigger

Stench pipe off we found the trough

Was filled up in its turn

Tried to push it through with pipe of blue

Meant to go up to the burn






Now hearts they sank as the septic tank

Was seen blocked at the end

With plugs of moss, a thick green boss

But Al’s will wouldn’t bend

With bit of wood, astride he stood

Stabbed at the cause of trouble

And at the loo, the awful stew

Did finally start to bubble






The moss did seep, began to weep

The plug began to break

The moss did snap and the head of crap

Was more than it could take

Three month’s shit, each bit of it

Shot high in all directions

Al stood still and took his fill

Right up to his mid-section.






This tale is true, I promise you

As sure as my names Martin

So be sure you, when you poo

Your troubles are not starting

Check for weeds when you do your deeds

Especially in the mountain

Ensure the flow when you go,

And avoid the Great Shit Fountain


Martin Fagan


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