Lunger, this phlegm must decline,
On luds you chew, the taste you don't mind.
Boogers run, gril
That's how my lungs feel.

This is a yarn 'bout the Asian,
And feelin' piqu-ed from that flu.
You got goo on your sleeve.
'Cause when you cough,
You wipe if off.
And tastes like dirt the food you chew, oh,

You mix some Vicks fume, hope to break up.
It feels like gravy's in your eyes.
Your nose won't blow,
And you long to breathe,
But still you seethe.
So on you look for cold supplies, oh,

Please hurry on, end this drama,
And put asunder your boog-ars.
Get out of here,
Must get back to prime,
And feelin' fine.
Not being laid up like you are, oh,

Lunger, get out of my eyes,
No rubs won't do, some way you must find,
Call on doctors,
To stop those hockers.

[Fade]