Body Turbulence

“Not the poop… not the poop…”

Sprintin’ through the concourse holdin’ back the poop,

Stomach twistin’ tight like it’s ready to dump a load in one swoop.

Every bathroom full, every line a loop,

If this pressure gets worse I might straight-up drop a scoop.

Gate call chimes with a cheerful little beep—

But my gut’s sayin’, “bro, you ain’t takin’ that seat.”

Sweatin’ bullets while I clench and regroup,

Beggin’ gravity not to force out the crap I’m tryna recoup.

If I don’t find a stall I’m gonna lose my cool—

God, I’m two steps away from droppin’ a stool.

I gotta POOP before the plane takes off,

Tryna hold this NUMBER TWO, it’s knockin’ the lock.

Doin’ that runway dance, lil’ panic hop—

Oooh, body turbulence—I’m close to a DROP.

I gotta DUMP, someone clear that spot,

If this line don’t move I’m losin’ the plot.

Airport spinnin’ ‘round me, don’t let me explode—

Oooh, BODY TURBULENCE—lemme release this LOAD!

Passin’ all the food stands, smells heavy as fog,

My stomach’s churnin’ like it’s cultivatin’ a log.

Janitor said “closed,” hit me with the dialogue—

Now I’m sprintin’ like I’m runnin’ from my own epilogue.

If I don’t purge soon, I’m breakin’ the rules—

My intestines chantin’ war songs, rehearsin’ the bowel drop tools.

Final boarding call rings loud in the air,

Meanwhile I’m searchin’ for a bathroom anywhere.

If I don’t unload, this pants fate is unfair—

I’m holdin’ a mess with a desperate prayer.

I gotta POOP before the plane takes off,

Tryna bottle this CRAP but the fuse is soft.

Doin’ that runway dance, lil’ panic bop—

Oooh, body turbulence—I’m close to a POP.

I gotta DROP, somebody clear that spot,

If I don’t UNLOAD I’m losin’ the plot.

Airport angels hear me, I’m about to ooze—

Oooh, BODY TURBULENCE—lemme push this NUMBER TWO!

[whisper]: “If I miss my gate, that’s fine…

But if this load breaks free, that’s where I draw the line.”

[falsetto swell]: “One open stall… I’m beggin’, please…”

I GOTTA POOP before the plane takes off,

This BOWEL DROP rising like a Molotov.

Doin’ that runway dance—can’t stop the jog—

Oooh, BODY TURBULENCE—I’m birthing a log.

I GOTTA PURGE, someone open that spot,

If I wait one more second I’m gonna get caught.

Airport mercy guide me, I’m about to lose—

Oooh, BODY TURBULENCE—LET ME DROP THIS NUMBER TWO!

“…sweet release.”