I ambled to Herr Mengele, to have him mend my meniscal
Misfortune. Unfortunately, his "practice" of the medical
Profession. . . check the lexicon and find the meaning's literal.
Yes, this quack truly practiced; a mal- hacking hack, of sh!t sure full.

He was not well acquainted with the matters anatomical;
His ignorance would fill a blimp; it's simply astronomical.
I should have been more leery when the see-clear-through crew shot some views
Then perused by this beer-drenched douche who's shaking from huge shots o' booze.

To be read by this brain-dead, red-faced d!ckhead who's sotted on booze.

I should have known--my chances blown, when he said that trapezius
Was a slick flick+ wit' Burt 'n' Curtis, Gina, Los Arriolas.
In short, this man named Mengele, a quack acting as medical
Professional was extra full of matter that's excremental.

He snorts much matter vegetable that's been condensed in a still;
It's medical mendacity. . .was meant to mend. . .renders ya ill.

You just might say that in his way this paring crock's a pair o' docs:
One's Jekyll, but the wrecker's Hyde; the former fronts to spare ya shocks;
Latter scourges in surgery; he goes nuts and he starts to cut
Haphazardly; this bastard's free to slice and dice and carve ya up.

This motherf***er bluffed me when he huffed, he knew arthroscopy.
Ficktabenteuer;++ fit for abattoir, he, if you're askin' me.
He's got to steady nerves to lend him verve before your skin ta score.
Medical school? Don't think this drooling fool has ever been before.

The devil's tool, this evil fool must booze a quart o' gin ta bore.

You'd think he was a doctor, decked out in a donned doc's uniform,
But after he is through, you're screwed, 'cause it's a faux fix--you, ripped, torn.
Aborted. . .a medical mess is what is now residual;
This guy's a pest, you've guessed, no rest for him-wrecked individual.

I'm cored after ingress; a mess is what is now residual
His Mess' went west and then caressed a nexus interstiti-al.

He does ingress with such "finesse," his Messer+++ sticks, in travelin',
And intact parts of yore are torn apart and sore, unravelin'.
I could once walk long, but now hobble o'er to where a chair is at
To ponder contents of this song; the long and short: beware this rat.

And now that he has f**ked me up, this f**kup is all done with me.
Before the knife, I signed my life away; what's yet to come? I'll see
I've got to find a sentient mind, a gal or gent with strategy
Who's a meniscal mensch. . .can maybe remedy my shattered knee.

With steth'-less necklace, reckless, feckless wreck-fest dreck-pest battered me.

The sh!t for brain's given me pain, a deranged bane who's wrecked my knee--
I hope that if you go to a doc, it won't be such dreck as he.
At least the beast unleashed an ease-grief feast: a plentitude of pills
I pop like popcorn chicken, sickened 'cause his rectitude was nil.

In short, this man named Mengele's a lop-job pox; I'm rent 'n' ill.
The chop-flop hop-not wrought by botch-job mock doc. . .crock sot sent his bill.


+"Trapeze," 1956, starring Burt Lancaster, Tony Curtis, Gina Lollobrigida, and the Los Arriolas high-wire act.
++pidgin German for "misadventure"
+++knife