Be it fright, frown, brain cell a crutch,
Some dumb things to hide, we need to clutch,
The plight of a putz, with a thought so profound,
Or the length of a dork, with boots tripping on ground,
The blunder of cowards, to go hover, and then to throw up,
To take flack, as they run again
Or to try for a pun without spurning a cringe,
So shy in the bed now and fear the lass sting,
To save all these things in our memory boards
And abuse them
To help us
To find . . . (Laughter and fade in of music for next song)