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His sense olfactory, not satisfactory
There once was a man named Stan
A most peculiar man
By that I mean
He had bad hygiene
Worst I've seen, smelled like a used bedpan
Stan would stay in his room, alone
'I want to have friends!' he would moan
Stan, what you don't understand
No matter what your demand
You stink, the reason you're on your own
Stan, gotta do something about that smell
You won't have friends, no chance in hell
Don't you find it ironic? You're lonely
In your house, though, it's 'Stan in room only'
Looking for mezzanine? I got tickets to sell!
