“The Happy Pills”
(Sung by a chorus of doctors)
The white one just might help you,
Though it makes your heart beat fast
And it makes your tongue feel sandy
And your eyes feel hard as glass.
So there’s clanging in your left ear
And a buzzing in your right—
If you overlook the symptoms
It will help you sleep all night.
Tra-la!
Or you could try the blue one,
If you don’t care how you look,
If you don’t mind tiny blisters
Filled with icky greenish gook
That will start out on your stomach
And then overrun your skin.
Anyway, you don’t get out much—
So you won’t mind staying in.
Tra-la!
This new one’s just the ticket.
Just ignore the gloomy press.
Those stories are all nonsense
Placed by nuts seeking redress.
Yes, one patient shot his family,
But that doesn’t happen much—
We know other patients like it,
And that’s good enough for us.
Tra-la!
This red one is a killer.
You’ll feel like a brand-new man,
If you don’t mind weird sensations
In your procreative gland.
Call my cell phone if it stiffens
And you can’t get it to bend—
You’ll be rushed back with a siren
And you’ll never shtup again.
Tra-la!
Tra-la, la, la, la!
That will be one hundred twenty-five dollars, please.
“Oh, that’s funny, Billy,” Mom says.