Oh marry me, Carter, I think I'm in love,
with the snapping sound of your rubber glove.
You don't have to lube up, to palpate my uterus.
Just slide yourself in; my cervix is beautimous.
Examine my breasts, examine my heart.
Examine the place where my legs spread apart.
Examine my innards, my outers as well;
examine my eyes and my lips and my smell.
(And don't be afraid; I know doctors are freaks;
You can do what you like, there's no need to be meek.
I've not seen it all, but I've had quite a peek,
I've done stuff that'd amaze you, within the last week.)
All that I ask, once you've sailed this ship:
some implants up top, collagen for my lips,
perhaps liposuction, just over my hips,
and a few routine tests we really can't skip.
I'd like a Chem 7, a full MRI,
A full blood count, a spleen test, some tests on my eye.
I've never had lupus or cancer or gout,
But listen while I talk my symptoms out.
I'm always fatigued--my blood glucose is fine,
And my thyroid as well, most of the time.
Like Bela Lugosi, I never drink... wine,
And x-rays indicate a normal spine...
Oh, sorry, I digressed--but I love you, John,
I'll try to use your first name from now on.
I'll be a good wife, in your house on the hill,
And you'll make sure I never, ever get ill.
We'll be so happy, I know we will...
Hey. You're not Carter.
And what's this oblong green pill?