Numb My Nethers

Here come old "hack job"; he's a removin' mohle*; he
Won't (hope!) bruise up my balls; he holy skin-roller.
Me no hair; age—five plus three!
Hope he a good poker and he don't too hard squeeze.

Hope that ain't moonshine or a Jim Beam highball.
Some funky smell lingers, despite breath controllers.
I want him sober as can be.
As I watch his arm flare, wish I talked, then I'd plead:
"Numb my nethers, 'fore you deglove* me!"

Skin-tag reduction—I like something to shoot:
Just a local skin pop; don't need spinal tapper.
Don't see no syringe for him to squeeze.
Where's the anesthesia? Don't do it drugless, please!
"Numb my nethers, 'fore you deglove me!"

He roll it over and give me no warning;
I feel bloody water; I got, woe!, no philter*.
He say, "Oy, my boy, no goy I see!"
Give him a hard look, and then on his hands I pee.
Numb, my nethers—where he degloved me.