This is a little personal
Dental denial
I need to go to the dentist.
My teeth are decaying.
Maybe I'm decaying.
Teeth, bone, stone.
Maybe I'm stoned.
Bob Dylan,
everybody must get stoned.
But rocks destroy the bone.
Childhood rhymes stick like glue
and don't bounce off of me
to stick to you.
But my teeth- they do.
They bite you,
and leave me blue.
I need to get them fixed,
so laughing gas can color me
a different hue.
Nah,
I'll just take care of them,
and keep me away from you.