But when he pressed on the dressing

I had a new doctor who pricked me
In the hand with a syringe,he stuck in me
But  when he pressed  on the dressing
I found it oppressing
So in a rage ,I cried out, why not just  kick me?

However, the blood formed a clot
Kn my brain where the  neurons were hot
Some fault in design
Took away my old mind
Now I’m about to be shot

He said kicking patients was bad
Though it might give some speed to the sad.
So I placed my forefinger
In a socket   and bingo
I was shocked until I felt  almost glad.

So now every morning at eight
I measure wy height and my weight
I eat the cat’s whiskers
And all of my sister’s
After that,I ‘m  real thrilled to go straight