(It never ceases to amaze me that you can send this stuff through the post.  I shall drop out of the screening programme next year after my 74th birthday)

 

(Return to sender)

(Return to sender)

I gave my letter to the postman

He put it in his sack

He must've wondered what the smell was

I didn't tell him it's my cack.

My stool sample.

 

In all its splendour

And all home grown

A nine inch bender

Caused me to moan.

I'd had to wrestle

It fought a lot

I'd had to grab it before it fell in the pot

 

He brought it back next morning

I was taken aback

I got off with a warning

It made a mess of his sack.

So I took it to the postbox

But still he'd groan and growl

He wasn't sympathetic to

The test that's for my bowel.

 

Next time I'm gonna take it myself

If posting it is gonna be banned

I'm sure that it's worse to give the lab nurse

My package in her hand.

My stool sample.

 

A nine inch bender

(10 inch when straight)

A prize contender

Of 6lb weight

My stool sample

I took to test

A fine example

Of John Coopey's bowel's best

 

So then I wait for their feedback

It came the very next day

Lying there on my doormat

My finest DNA.

My stool sample

 

That 9 inch bender

And all home grown

Returned to sender

I should have known

Returned to sender

Returned to Sender

Returned to Sender

I should have known.