CHUCKles

When you’re sitting on the toilet with a pail between your knees
And the sweat is sitting on your brow like dew
You don’t worry much ‘bout dinner or the dog that’s full of fleas
The only thing you worry ‘bout is you

As you shiver in your thinker’s pose, your pants down past your knees
And your body’s shaking like an leaf aflutter
You don’t worry much ‘bout laundry or the dying off of bees
You just wonder why your legs have turned to butter

And you’re slowly being emptied and the sounds are sounds from hell
And the whole damn neighbourhood knows you’re not well –
But your husband’s home from work now, and you hope he’ll get you pills
That will stop you chucking, pooping, sweating, shivering with chills

But no that just won’t happen, instead he yells upstairs
And wonders what the hell you’re doing there
“Come down and get my supper, that‘s the least that you can do
You’ve only got a little touch of flu.”

So if husband gets a horrid whack by accident of course
And his head looks like it got kicked by a horse
Ignore what he may tell you, concussions can be funny
He surely wasn’t punched by me, his sickly little honey.