Ahem.
Bowel Control to Major Tom
Bowel Control to Major Tom
Take your Beano now and put your helmet on
Bowel Control to Major Tom (ten, nine, eight, seven, six)
Commander sniffs, the side-eye’s on (five, four, three)
Check your suit seals and may God’s love be… P.U.! (two, one, liftoff)
This is Ground Control to Major Tom
You’ve really shit the bed
And the papers want to know whose shorts you wear
Now it’s time to leave the men’s head if you dare
"This is Major Tom to Ground Control
I’m exiting the stall
And I’m farting in a most peculiar way
And my crewmates’ faces look aghast today
For here
Am I sitting in my own filth
Far above the world
My suit’s filled with poo
And there’s nothing I can do
Though I’ve gassed one hundred thousand miles
I’m feeling very ill
And I think my faeces knows which way to go
Tell my wife it smells like shit up here." She knows!
Bowel Control to Major Tom
Your filter’s dead, it smells all wrong
Can you hear me, Major Tom?
Can you hear me, Major Tom?
Can you hear me, Major Tom?
Can you…
“Here am I floating in a brown haze
Farting to the moon
My undershorts are brown
And my suit is falling down…”
Okay, I’m sorry for that.
