Let’s Face It

I keep telling myself it will all be good and truly fine

even if my plastic surgeon’s last name is Frankenstein,

because he says my new face will make me look like Brad Pitt

yet I might have to tolerate a few spells and lots of spit.

 

So far I’m not sure I’m thrilled by his wrinkle away approach

wish he didn’t work on me while smoking that marijuana roach,

since right now all this stretching is giving me one big pain

plus it's making me dizzy and staying awake is really a strain.

 

Still if I ended up will all be worth it if I end up looking like a star

just hope he was kidding about having to keep my head in a jar,

for that won’t help much if I have to keep it in the trunk of my car

because I sure would need it each time I went for a drink at a bar.

 

Doing my best to not stress how he is so very odd and quirky

or how me speaks of perfect skin being like some beef jerky,

also where he said that past mistakes looked like cooked turkey

and when I ask how long this will take his answers are always murky.

 

Guess I can’t complain much since he is giving me a new look for free

now all I can pray is he wasn’t serious about my image being made of brie,

since that stuff such can spoil if you let it get hot beyond a certain degree,

which will not improve my chance of impressing the ladies that I see.

 

Perhaps if I’m lucky I can only meet the gals when I’m inside

while I figure out some way to explain my slightly smelling hide,

without them discovering how I all I said was just where I had lied

then they run away so all I can do is sit alone with wounded pride.

 

Reckon I’ll just keep trusting his crazy cosmetic plan will do the trick

for at the moment it sure is causing me to be more than a little sick,

surely he must have learned from those he made look like some brick

though he claims that was only twice and he has improved really quick.