Pleasure of the Visit

Sitting in a waiting room, overhearing bits of convo;
smells a plenty in this shanty, people going gonzo.

Take a number, then please sit, like that lady at the desk actually gives a shit;
kids there messed up, parents there is more so;
there happens to be a person in a wheel chair looking like just a torso.

The buzzer rings, a new number gets called, when it's not their number, moods become appauld.
Everybody gets a number, then they call you in twice, once to verify your info, second time ain't not so nice.

A clickity clack, whizzity furl, whizo;
That's the sound of the machine that prints out printouts with yours, and other peoples bizzo.

Pee in this cup, sit still and gimme your blood;
That happens to be their job, and the request, and it may sound odd.

When it's all said and done, they do their best to usher you off;
Then they deal with the rest, unless that is you got a new cough.

I just touched my eyeball, now I'm seeing various tingles;
Two weeks from now I hope I don't end up with shingles.

I can't wait to get their call, I hope there's a walk-in valet;
Please don't look at me weird, just because of somethings that I say.

There's a dude there in the hall, talking loudly, his voice sounds like he's into boys;
But he claims he's there for a horse, who's mouth his wiener did destroy.

What'd I tell you, messed up, just like a toilet seat warmer;
Sitting in an outhouse in the middle of the summer.

That don't make no darn sense, this is the kinda shit that makes dollars;
Now if only I incorporated a beat, snare drums, and a wild holler.

I could transcend all my thoughts, and emotions from this paper, to the screen;
Then it would go into your mind, and you could envision what I've seen.

If you will, please remain seated, and please for the sake of your friends;
Try not to imitate me, cause my thoughts come out not making sense.

You may find this kind of shiza mildly mindless, and uproaring;
Like a lion waking up, after a long night of snoring, after wasting a gazelle;

Waking up to her dead face, last night his teeth he'd sunk;
in her skin to get a taste, of her tasty gazelle meat, but he leaves her sweaty feet.