The time has come, the time is near
to visit relatives so dear.
And so upon the plane I board
with nothing but a harpsichord.
I never bring my luggage now
cuz it gets so lost anyhow --
I'd rather get insurance paid
on some antique that is mislaid.
My seat has shrunk since last I flew;
they must think I'm an allen screw.
The meal I'm served is vulcanized
and so stale it has crystallized.
The in-flight movie is so dull
it's cracking up my fragile skull.
And in the seat right next to me
a man is snoring blissfully.
He shifts his bulk to block my view
of anything but his muumuu.
And then it's time to you-know-what,
but how will I get past this nut?
My busted bladder's not severe;
I just won't fly again this year . . .
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