mc5 - A Sticky End

For hops, it seemed, grew everywhere, even in his garden

From these he brewed some dreadful stuff and sent it to Bin Laden.

To his flat in Abbottabad the package was delivered

It smelled like the bottom of a goat and feverishly quivered.

Bin Laden, macho to a fault, knocked it back in one

The effects were pretty instant, and sent him "on the run"

Up in the sky, where the CIA had their satellite

The 'strains' of his discomfort were transmitted, byte by byte.

We have him, he has got the shakes, the spies said with much glee

So they targeted a drone on his outside WC.

Pablo

With a bang and roar, it was no more, his kharzi now was gone

There now was nowhere he could place his ample sit-upon

He shook his fist and made a list of revenges slow, but sweet,

Such as strangling Dubya with a cast-off winding sheet

But first of all, he could not stall; a lavvy he must find

And preferably with paper, to wipe his large behind.

He knew of places he could go, but none were very secret

but he found one stocked with rocks and even with a free jet.

And in that jet was a toilet, where relief might well be found

(If only it was not ten thousand feet above the ground)

At such a height, it should be known, one's flatus is explosive