Under Doctors Orders

[Sad Jackie]

Under Doctors' Orders
When your life has turned to faeces (or poo-poos)
You have to make the best of it
No booze and baccy is a dreadful loss
But there's something even more gross.

(Sorry about that fucking bad rhyme
but I am running out of thinking time.)

Try and think things could be worse
You could have a 24/7 constant curse:
The doctors could have said you were out of luck
And forbidden you to masturbate or make love roughly.

[Engelbert Humpalot]

That would indeed be a bad prognosis.

[Sad Jackie]

How about some other comments?

[Pierre]

Sad poem.

[Barry Hodges]

Delightful.
I suppose.

[montez]

Very tasteful, though to be seriarse for a moment, the flow is way out.
Have you tried counting silly bulls?
I find it a useful tool (if you'll pardon the eckspreshun!)
Kind regards,
Mr R. Sole.