The Psychiatrist

In the office of a shrink
The secretary's wearing pink
It's twelve o'clock, work starts at ten
It seems the doctor's late again

At twelve fifteen, he does appear
On his breath, the smell of beer
Hung over from the night before
He goes inside and slams the door

As he's hanging up his coat
He sees a little post-it note
Where his secretary scrawled
That a couple patients called

At one o'clock, he does begin
One by one, he calls them in
He sits them down upon the chair
And then he just pretends to care

And while the stupid people grovel
He used to take notes for his novel
Forget this "being confidential"
These stories all have some potential

The stupid spanish cleaning man
Always spic, but never span
Threw his manuscript away
He got deported yesterday

So now he'll watch the sweep-hand clock
Which doesn't tic, and doesn't tock
He watches time just spin away
And doesn't hear the things they say

"Doctor please, I fucked my brother
And we've grown to hate each other"
This would not make him blink an eye
He'd come up with a quick reply :

"Have a kid with thirteen toes
and sell it to the circus shows
Take the pills, you fucking freak
And we'll meet again next week"

Indifferent to insanity
Disgusted by humanity
He doesn't judge, and won't condemn
But of course... he fucks with them

"Doctor, my libido's gone
now only asians turn me on"
The doctor looks up from his chair
And minimizes solitaire

"Asians eh?" The doc replies,
"Airtight cunts and tighter eyes
You can't tell if they're really mad
Surprised, upset, or even sad"

He takes a shot of coke and gin
"Get out and send the next one in"
He has no patience for his patients
He messes with their medications

He'll switch Prozac with sleeping pills
Their HMO will pay the bills
It's not as evil as it seems
Let them have depressing dreams

He takes the Prozac from before
Opens up the bottom drawer
And wonders if he has a soul
A bottle labeled "birth control"

All the pills, they look the same
So he'll never take the blame
At least he guaranteed they smiled
On the day they had their child

Sometimes, on a boring day
He'll tell people that they're gay
The truth 9 inches out of reach
He always gives this awful speech:

"It's the cause of your depression
Simple, age old, fag repression
The secret to a happy soul
Is a bloody, wrecked asshole"

It's satisfying to have known
That you got a gay guy blown
And hey, he's right one out of ten
When he claims they're into men

They grant you such amazing power
For 200 bucks an hour
And that's just for the bad advice
For medications, raise the price

When every day becomes insane
It's ordinary, even plain
But look at that, it's half past five
He made it through the day alive

His secretary says goodnight
And turns off the florescent light
He puts on his shiny shoes
And packs up his work and booze

He wants to leave, but just before
He opens up the cupboard door
And pulls one Prozac off the shelf
Which he'll be keeping for himself