“The problem is NOT inside your gut,” she says to me.
She nods her head as if she wants me to agree.
I’m backed up bucket loads; dear doctor, hear my plea.
There must be fifty ways to move your matter.

“I’ve seen the X-rays; there’s no problem I can find.
Your labs are normal – no disease of any kind.”
I’m hooked on laxatives; they’re always on my mind.
There must be fifty ways to move your matter…
…Fifty ways to move your matter.

“Take command of the can, Stan.
Don’t rattle your brain, Blaine.
You just have to believe, Steve,
That your body’s in charge.
Put your mind in a trance, Lance.
Let that snake do its dime dance.
Your resistance must go, Mo,
And then you will flow.”

“Just slam dunk the can, Stan.
Prop up your feet, Pete.
Stuff is bound to deploy, Roy.
Nothing’s wrong; you will see.
It’s much like a boa, Noah,
In consort with good protozoa.
Brace yourself for a thrill, Bill,
You’ll be crapping with glee.”

Alas, how rather simple your advice does seem to me.
My ailing rubber hose is clogged with play dough; can’t you see?
I fear that I will reach the point of bowel catastrophe.
There must be fifty ways to move your matter.

“My friend, I think another pill will do no good.
Your body’s putting up a fight, indeed as well it should.
When you let loose the shock will surely rock the neighborhood.
I know there’s fifty ways to move your matter…
…Fifty ways to move your matter….”