Lyrics

He gets cramped up, by all that strange food.
He loves speed skating, but needs to relieve.
He never bothers, with johns at the rink.
That’s why Steve Sands loves his heated can.

He loves the warm, soft, touch on his bum.
Life without care. He’ll flush, and then blush!
He hates Pyeongchang, it’s cold, man oh man.
That’s why Steve Sands loves his heated can!