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In the town of Gasville, they gather once more

With gas, smell and fans, whatever's in store

Referee Hank, still brave though pale

Swears this year, he won’t inhale

The crowd is checked for lighters and flames

Explosion risk — they know these games

Bill protests outside with a sign, “No gas, more vax!”

Electric fans in the arena are cranked to the max

The audience keeps a safe distance no front row today

No one wants to be the closest in the exciting spray

They’re waving their flags holding their hope, and their breath

And are hoping the game doesn't reach sudden death

Then Fritz from Germany steps in line,

With bratwurst, beer, and sauerkraut fine.

He pounds his chest, proud and fearless calls,

“Deutschland über alles!” shakes the walls.

He lets it rip — the crowd goes numb,

A roaring jet from his mighty bum!

The thrust so strong, the folks all shout,

As Fritz begins to levitate out!

Then Boris storms in, coat of blue and chrome,

The Gazprom logo shining bright under the dome.

“Real gas power!” he proudly shouts,

“The Motherland fuels me — and sauerkrauts!”

He squats with strength, the ground does break,

The lights flicker out, the bleachers shake.

A methane burst — so fierce, so wide,

Half the scoreboard’s electrified!

The crowd yells “Boris!” loud and proud,

As he salutes with fumes like a cloud.

He bows, then grins with Russian flair,

Then he shouts “Gazprom” in the green air.

The audience keeps a safe distance no front row today

No one wants to be the closest in the exciting spray

They’re waving their flags holding their hope, and their breath

And are hoping the game doesn't reach sudden death

From Japan comes Yuki, polite and neat

Her miso and ramen can’t be beat

A gentle tune, soft as a flute

Till the pressure builds — and she lets it shoot!

A cannon blast, so crisp, so tight,

It shakes the lamps and dims the light.

What a smell, and the force that flies,

Sends a banner soaring through the skies!

Then Li Wei steps up, calm and shy,

With silky tofu stacked so high.

He smiles once, and takes his stance,

The crowd prepared for olfactory dance.

Then a short break he'll just stand and wait

Lets the pressure build up until it's great

Then he says "you'll see fart like lightning

No kung fu here — we’re to-fu fighting"

A gust erupts — thick and wide,

A milky cloud rolls far and wide.

Up above, the sky turns gray,

And birds start falling in disarray!

They tumble down through the reeking mist,

The crowd ducks fast — they can’t resist.

Hank cries out, “Oh mo please, why!?”

As feathered chaos fills the sky.

The audience keeps a safe distance no front row today

No one wants to be the closest in the exciting spray

They’re waving their flags holding their hope, and their breath

And are hoping the game doesn't reach sudden death

From Peru comes Carlos, fiery and proud

His fermented anaconda stew draws a crowd

He bends, he rumbles, the ground starts to quake

7 point 5 on the Richter scale — some walls crack and break

Windows shatter, mountains groan

Gasville trembles to its backbone

Seismographs spin, alarms do sing

Carlos roars — “Viva el farting king!”

Mohammed steps up with a suit so wide

Could something suspicious be tucked inside.

The crowd looks close — what’s under his clothes?

A bundle of balloons, who’d ever suppose?

He squeezes once — they start to twitch,

Balloons break away with a sudden whoosh!

They rocket upward, a foul parade,

Trailing fumes like a gas grenade!

They zip through the air with jet-stream might,

Leaving green streaks across the light.

The crowd goes wild, Hank hits the floor —

“Those aren’t natural!” — the fans all roar!

“Cheating!” cries Hank, gas mask askew

“Disqualified instantly — no doubt we’re through!”

The scandal spreads through every stand

The stench of shame all across the land

The audience keeps a safe distance no front row today

No one wants to be the closest in the exciting spray

They’re waving their flags holding their hope, and their breath

And are hoping the game doesn't reach sudden death

Then comes Abdullah Abdul from Sweden, calm and clean,

With Sweden’s secret weapon — surströmming for the win!

A scientist of rockets, explosions his domain,

He channels that knowledge through gastric propane!

He opens the can — the air turns mean,

But his blast sends ripples through the green.

Fans fly backward, the VIP stands collapse,

The oxygen’s gone — the crowd just claps!

Hank’s still woozy, eyes all wide,

Abdullah Abdul’s farting power turns the tide!

At last comes Geir, the champ of lore

The champ from Norway, back once more

He’s trained all year, with rakfisk rank

A fermented trout — from stream to tank

Looks at Abdullah Abdul, his rival new

And lets out one — the air turns blue

The fans all gasp, but fate’s not kind

Hank’s still dizzy — his judgment blind

He waves the flag, mistakes the score

Geir’s knocked out — he can’t roar no more

The Viking legend’s day is done

Abdullah Abdul’s declared the mighty one

But Norway’s crowd begins to roar,

They say the judge can’t count no more!

“Geir was robbed!” the banners cry,

“His fart had force that reached the sky!”

They file a protest, loud and clear,

Against poor Hank, whose nose can't bear.

Officials argue, tempers flare,

As fumes still linger in the air.

Abdullah Abdul just grins, receives the gold,

Geir looks crushed, thoughts of revenge unfold.

He swears "next year", he’ll train anew —

With rakfisk, beans, and codfish stew!

The audience keeps a safe distance no front row today

No one wants to be the closest in the exciting spray

They’re waving their flags holding their hope, and their breath

And are hoping the game doesn't reach sudden death