A bummer wind came blowin' in. . .
Swear it weren't from me!
It lingered there like rancid air;
We tried to flee.
Hellacious pong--worse than the songs
That have been coming from my hand.
Non-sweet fart was this bummer wind.

With pain and fright, we saw the light
That was sparked by
A smoker friend--a cigarette
About to try.
We all yelled, "Man, don't light that match!"
He turned and said, "Screw you!"
And then it blew, the bummer wind.

I saw my skin had been darkened--
Eyelashes gone.
As for the drapes, there's no escape--
They're flaming on.
Furniture's fried, my fish have died. . .
Comes to this in the end:
No flints, my friend, near bummer wind.