Out in back it stands alone,
That little shack I call my own,
Its painted drab, a rustic green,
That's why its called the Green Latrine.
Wooden seats upon the stools,
and in March it's kind of cool,
As the wind blows thru the screen,
on the door of the Green Latrine.
On my bed I lie in pain,
Ccause outside it pouring rain,
I gotta go but I can't just yet,
Cause I'm afraid I might get wet.
In the house my family yells,
"The Green Latrine, it really smells!"
I say to them, "now just relax",
"An outside john cuts property tax!"