Surgeon

I spent the summer on my back
Another attack
Stay in just to get along
Turn off the TV, wade in bed
A blue and a red
A little something to get along

Best, finest surgeon
Come cut me open

Dressing, undressing for the wall
If mother calls
She knows well we don’t get along
I tell the mailman, “Never you mind
I’ll sift through the piles”
And for him to just get along

Best, finest surgeon
Come cut me open