MORE WOMEN ARE HYPOCHONDRIACS THAN MEN. WE ALL WORRY
WORRIES (after BUSY) I think I’ve got an ulcer; I get a nasty twinge Immediately after eating — a snack, a meal, a binge. Perhaps I’ve got colitis. Or could it just be wind? Or gastro-enteritis? Those crabmeat chunks were tinned.
SO Round I go, Unsound I go, Snowbound I go — Down to the doctor’s To wait in the surgery. And down I go, To town I go, And feeling like a clown I go: I think I could be suffering from irritable bowel. Or is it indigestion? Or some form of congestion? Or grumbling appendix? That can really make you howl . . . Of course, I might have cancer — it could be in the genes. The funny thing is yesterday I felt quite full of beans. Perhaps it’s nothing really; my tummy’s just upset — Though nowadays you never know; I wouldn’t take a bet.
SO Off I go, You’ll scoff, I know, I’ve got this funny cough, and so. Down to the doctor’s, To sit in the surgery. And pound about, Expound and shout, Astound and flout My woe.
Woe is me!