Oh, f'Goodness' Sake, Grow Up!

I must be embarking on my second childhood. A puerile parody of Cohan's Over There has been trying to surface in the past few days, so I finally sat down to finish it, in hopes of getting it out of the system:

Underwear!
Underwear!
There's a pair
On that chair
Over there—
Now, the waistband's gummy,
The crotch is crummy;
There's lots of scummy
Pubic hair.

They've a rare
Pungent air,
Like the stench
Like a French
Camembert—
And no wonder!
Because (by thunder!)
They've been six long weeks
On this very derrière!

Lyric © 2006 by Nathaniel DesH. Petrikov

I don't think for a minute that the idea for this song hasn't been done before. American men being what they are, it stands to reason.

As my faithful readers know, the views expressed in this lyric are not necessarily those of the lyricist, who conscientiously changes his underwear every month without fail.