Sitting In The Dentist’s Chair,
Wishing That I Wasn’t There,
To Forget And Pass The Time
I Have Made This Bit Of Rhyme.

I Had A Rendez-Vous At Ten;
I Rushed To Get In Line,
But Found A Lot Of Dames And Men
Had Waited There Since Nine;
I Stared At Them, Then In An Hour
Was Blandly Ushered In;
But Though My Face Was Grim And Sour
He Met Me With A Grin.
He Told Me Of His Horse Of Blood,
And How It “Also Ran”,
He Plans To Own A Racing Stud –
(He Seems A Wealthy Man.)
And Then He Left Me There Until
I Growled: “At Any Rate,
I Hope He’ll Not Charge In His Bill
For All The Time I Wait.”
His Wife Has Sables On Her Back,
With Jewels She’s Ablaze;
She Drives A Stately Cadillac,
And I’m The Mug Who Pays:
At Least I’m One Of Those Who Peer
With Pessimistic Gloom
At Magazines Of Yester-Year
In His Damn Waiting Room.
I Am A Christian Scientist;
I Don’t Believe In Pain;
My Dentist Had A Powerful Wrist,
He Tries And Tries In Vain
To Make Me Grunt Or Groan Or Squeal
With Probe Or Rasp Or Drill. . . .
But Oh, What Agony I Feel
When He Presents His Bill!
Sitting In The Dental Chair,
Don’t You Wish You Weren’t There:
Well, Your Cup Of Woe To Fill,
Just Think Of His Infernal Bill.
by gagoo‚Â