Big di*k Farts a Polka lyrics
by Jonathan Coulton
Now deep in Pennsylvania near where Route 180 ends
There's a humble house of brick and wood and glass
The tiny home of Rich Wojcinski, Big di*k to his friends
Who despite his name is famous for what issues from his ass
Every Tuesday night at the Legion Hall
Bring a can of Glade and have a ball
Everybody loves when Big di*k farts a polka
Everyone who hears can't help but dance
Someone better get him a change of pants
Everybody loves when Big di*k farts a polka
Now Big di*k started dinner with some cabbage and some greens
Some broccoli, a pair of turkey legs
Some jalapeño poppers and a tub of kidney beans
Several liters of cream soda and a dozen deviled eggs
Every Tuesday night at the Legion Hall
Bring a can of Glade and have a ball
Everybody loves when Big di*k farts a polka
Everyone who hears can't help but dance
Someone better get him a change of pants
Everybody loves when Big di*k farts a polka
They say that grown men cried the day that Big di*k passed away
The ladies wailed, their shoulders sadly stooped
And though there were no instruments a band began to play
And the air was filled with music and it smelled like someone pooped
Every Tuesday night at the Legion Hall
Bring a can of Glade and have a ball
Everybody loves when Big di*k farts a polka
Everyone who hears can't help but dance
Someone better get him a change of pants
Everybody loves when Big di*k farts a polka
Everybody loves when Big di*k farts a polka