I Got the Fever

Three days of misery now, and my mate doesn't seem so happy; neither are my alveoli.


There is nothing cute
About acute bronchitis,
My alveoli are screaming
Something did bite us,
And we're drowning in goo blobs
Thicker than snot,
Well, we have a solution
We're going to cook this stuff hot.

Fever
For three days running,
Worse than a tanning booth
Or Riviera sunning,
Cooked right crisp
My wife said, you're a hottie,
You're making the bed too warm
And you smell like a chapati.