Gone, Gone, Gone
“Hello Doc, I just chopped my hand off.
What shall I do?”
“Don’t bother me. I’m at a meeting.”
So says Dr. Schmoodelpuss.
“Yea, but my arm’s bleeding real bad.”
So says Mr. Brown, the patient.
“I’m at the golf course now.
Don’t bother me.”
“My hand’s lying on the ground.”
“Shut up. I’m lining up a putt.”
I’m starting to feel weak.”
“What do you want me
To do about it?”
So says the doc.
“Everything’s turning dark now.”
So says Mr. Brown.
“Yea, I just sunk a 20 foot putt.
Aren’t you going to congratulate me?”
So says the proud doctor.
“Con-gra-tu-la-tion– –s, ah-h-h,”
So says Mr. Brown as he
Uttered his last word
And breathed his last breath.
“Hello, hello, Mr. Brown.
I guess you better
Call the mortician now.
Oh yea, I guess you can’t.
You must be dead.
You must be
Gone, gone, gone by now.”
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