COme gather 'round, folkies, leave trial and leave stress
And take up the torch in defense of BS
For there's nothing as grim or as sorry to see
As a girl singing lonely from up in a tree.

Come singers and poets, and spinners of tales
Who tell of the Gryffins, and Monsters and Whales,
Who weave wondrous stories of the heathen Chinee,
And Leave not poor Rustic alone in her tree!

And you who write poetry, narrow and long,
Step forth to assist her as she sings in her song,
How the world must be freed of all pain and duress
By making it safe for the best of BS!

How dark, like a dungeon, and dank as a mire
Would our world be deprived of its pure BS fire!
It would be such a bore, nevermore to soar free
So come stand forth boldly, just under her tree!

BS it is wholesome, it is good for the soul,
It raiseth the heart, makes the time sweetly roll
And there's nothing on earth or elsewhere I confess
That passeth the hours like a load of BS!!

Aloysius Whittaker Cummerbund IV
Songs to a Bird in a Tree
Limpwrist and Flaming, New York, 1967