The lowest form of humor meets the lowest form of poetry.

bring me the chainsaw
no mere mortal could open
this goddamn package

come out of my butt
you evil turd; don't make me
take extreme measures

the chile verde
may taste hot, but digestion
makes it far hotter

dale differential
is not to be trifled with
after eating beans

someone has written
a haiku about my farts
I am very proud

the ill truly know
diarrhea and sneezing
are a tale of woe 

curses, foiled again
the harsh glow of the stage lights
made me miss those boobs

sure, send some more shots
we obviously can't play
any worse tonight

there are times I wish
(often when they are naked)
our fans were younger

tip your bartender
putting up with your bullshit
shouldn't come cheaply

the beers that we drink
are the sand in the hourglass
poured out 'til sound check

he's a total douche
a fucktacular on ice
i really hate him

i like the haiku
five, then seven syllables
no room for bullshit

we should write a song
even shit shines in the rain
i bet it would be awesome

i said i loved you
why'd you set my ass on fire?
chili burrito.

simple recipe
one jam, one song, one concert
i just wish they'd stop

beer, cigars, krystals
resonate bathtub hookah
to water my eyes

the stench of my balls
requires more than mere scrubbing
instead, a long soak