There once was a fellow named Bart br he declared Father Death to be art br when the knock finally came br and death called out his name br he said, please, just one last farewell fart. br br Father Death had ignored this small plea br Bart was home that was easy to see br when the loudest of farts br and it had to be Bart's br blew the reaper right down on his knee. br br When the reaper is utterly humbled br and his job has been thoroughly bumbled br he will have to retreat br while admitting defeat br Bart was scared and he farted and mumbled. br br So it is the olfactory nerve br that's the weak spot, it gives us new verve br so when Father death knocks br quickly strip off your socks br let him have it, say: 'Happy to serve.' br br If collateral fallout disturbs you br a discloloured pyjama perturbs, too br then you don't wear a frown br but a wide open gown br it's what 'DEATH-I-WILL-FART' people must do.