Yo, if your parents hear you listening to this, they’re going to frown.
They’ll be like, “our babysitter Frontalot’s letting us down.”
In fact, I bet it’s around now that their ears perk up,
already poised to disengage the circuit.
Wakjąkága was not exactly a man.
More like the demiurge than a demigod, if you understand.
And if you don’t, let me just say he’s a bit of a fool:
sort of a jester, but also a simpleton too.
He wandered the forest in search of some food.
A couple duck carcasses (of which he approved),
dripping with fat, sizzle in his campfire.
Wakjąkága gets bored of cooking, gets tired,
gets comfy, warming his back at the hearth.
Though it’s pretty early, he’s not the only creature on the earth.
There’s foxes. They’d like a duck dinner too.
Brown Eye Detective Agency got interviewed.
Keep an eye out!
should’ve paid attention.
There were no other applicants. The booty’s on lookout.
Can only Po at interlopers, hard to guard the cook-out.
Wakjąkága woke up and he stretched,
reached for his dinner: nothing but bones left.
His booty was stone deaf to recrimination and censure.
One duty, shirked, leaving trust in contention.
And Wakjąkága, so stern with his underling,
stabbed it where you or I would wear underthings,
with a sharp stick that happened to be on fire,
as proper punishment for its failing to keep its eye out.
Satisfied with this discipline, he went about his way,
still with his tummy grumbling and dismayed.
Hope before it’s too late, he could find a tidbit.
What should he happen upon but an unattended
sizzling strip of the fat that he’d savored before?
He gobbled it and ambled along, imagining more.
O cornucopia! The world’s older brother here
keeps on discovering, discarded everywhere,
just what he’s looking for: the most delicious
fresh-cooked dishes. Seems a bit suspicious...
Someone just littering hot meat? Yo, hold up.
You’re walking in a circle, Wakjąkága!
Ought to check your backside where the gaping wound you made is.
Uh oh. Young ones, be careful how you say this:
his anus was trailing out guts in abundance and
upon himself is how he’d meted punishment.
Upon himself: also how he’d been dining. So,
took a couple handfuls of his booty up and tied it closed.
And that’s why part of your butt’s wrinkly.
Wakjąkága couldn’t help mingling:
shaping the world while he faked his way through it,
till we’re just like him, half divine, half stupid.