I'm sitting in the can with my cell phone in my hand
Trying to enjoy my morning dump
I'm squeezing and I'm straining and my colon is complaining
But that moment of relief just will not come
Now my blood pressure's pretty bad, I'm middle aged and kind of fat
And I should get more fiber and exercise
But I was really not prepared, for my next thought left me so scared
Coz it struck me: This is how Elvis died

Elvis was the King, but that don't mean a goddamn thing
When he keeled over sitting on his throne
His millions of adoring fans just couldn't be there with the man
He had to have that heart attack alone
And when they did the autopsy they found his colon was nine feet
He couldn't poop no matter how he tried
His constipation was serious, it caused a heart arrhythmia
And now you know that's how Elvis died

(But other people have other theories. They're wrong, but I'll share them anyway.)

Bananas and bacon and peanut butter was his favorite sandwich, along with uppers
And downers and a bunch of other drugs
Like codeine, phenobarbitol, and methadone and secanol
And dexadrine and valium and bugs

(Now, I don't know that Elvis actually ate bugs. Maybe he thought they were little brown pills. Or maybe I have him confused with William Burroughs. And that leads me to my next verse, which leads me to the wise words of Tom Lehrer... "Should I? No, I guess I'd better not." So we're going to skip that verse.)

Some blame the medication Elvis took with dedication
As the cause of his untimely demise
But the problem's scatological, so I'm waxing pedagogical
On dangers that I hope you realize
The symptoms are quite treatable, and constipation's beatable
With health advice your doctor can provide
So have yourself a good poo, being full of shit can kill you
You don't want to die the way that Elvis died