The guy who does upholstering
This chair has never seen:
It’s a sort of pre-conditioner
For WORSE one, what I mean!
A magazine is on my lap,
Passe as Dodo-feed;
But no one cares how old it is–
We just PRETEND to read.
My hands are somewhat sweaty;
I tremble and I shake;
I’ll bet that Harvard’s seismograph
Will register my quake!
I sort of wish I might have shaved;
A pretty chick’s across–
But then I sense she’s pretty sure
That I’m a total loss.
I hope that guy he has inside
Takes doctor all the night–
And yet, he’d better get to me
Before I die of fright!
What’s happened to that tooth that gave
Me heck from dusk to dawn?
For now that I’m up here, I find
The pain is less–IT’S GONE!
finis–(mine!)
Well, here I am–I’m in the chair.
No matter what he does,
It can’t be half as painful
As that AWFUL WAITING WAS!
(and actually (all but
one verse) written in
Doc Kissell’s waitingroom
by Ray Romine Saturday, November 20, 1943