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The Hypochondriac
The Hypochondriac

Doctor, I’m sure I’ve got a dose of gout.
I really do think I’m slowly dying.
And a sharp, stabbing pain in my neck.
No doctor, I’m definitely not lying.

Today my knee wouldn’t straighten.
When I woke everything was odd.
I had to eat my toast and cereal.
Stood up like a flippin’ ramrod.

My ear hair is growing at a pace.
That can’t be right Doctor, surely?
My skin is wrinkling before my eyes
I’m positive I’m aging prematurely.

Did I mention my palpitations?
They’ve been happening too.
It’s a rapid drum beat in my chest.
Like an Alien’s about to come through.

I’ve got a boil that needs lancing.
It’s it the middle of my left bum cheek.
No, Mr Jones, of course I believe you.
I really don’t need to take a peek.

Is there anything else that’s wrong Mr Jones?
You haven’t got Ebola have you?
Tuberculosis, Cholera, Malaria
Alzheimer’s, Diabetes or Spanish flu?

Well, I do wonder if I have leprosy Doctor.
We’ll need to isolate you Mr Jones, for sure.
You’ll have a special diet of pizza and fried eggs.
The only things we’ll be able to slide under the door.

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