Lyrics Moshart's Second Movement - Pfft.

The evenings first movement enchanted the air with philharmonic elation
Music swelled and the crowd swooned at the joyous occasion
But at the turn of the hour
His stomach turned sour
His bowels bubbled like kettle
No matter how hard he tried
Though he strained and he cried
The pressure turned projectile
The Congregation was pummeled by repulsive rectal nectar
It was his last performance, he was shut down by the health inspector