The checkup . . .

Thought I'd let my doctor check me, 'Cause I didn't feel quite right. . . All those aches and pains annoyed me And I couldn't sleep at night.
He could find no real disorder But he wouldn't let it rest. What with Medicare and Blue Cross, We would do a couple tests.
To the hospital he sent me Though I didn't feel that bad. He arranged for them to give me Every test that could be had.
I was fluoroscoped and cystoscoped, My aging frame displayed. Stripped, on an ice cold table, While my gizzards were x-rayed.
I was checked for worms and parasites, For fungus and the crud, While they pierced me with long needles Taking samples of my blood.
Doctors came to check me over, Probed and pushed and poked around, And to make sure I was living They then wired me for sound.
They have finally concluded, Their results have filled a page. What I have will someday kill me; My affliction is
Dad, G-Pa, etc.
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