I woke up one morning
with a plastic bag on my tummy.
If this is some type of joke
it just ain't very funny.
I thought my life was over
Damn, what a drag
to have to go through life
wearing a plastic bag.
I told myself, self,
don't feel sorry
and don't you whine
at least I'm alive
I'll do just fine.
Then I got used to
that small tiny bag
now it's just a normal part of life
and it ain't no drag.
I could do everything
that I could before
and I'm happy now
not sad no more.
But sometimes, sometimes
that stoma plays games with me
I empty my bag and it
fills back up after a minute or three.
I say slow down down!
Don't go so damn fast!
You frickin little stoma
you can kiss my clean ass.
Just when I think
it's safe to go to the store
I'm on aisle number three
and that sucker spews some more.
Sometimes it mumbles and groans
and I have no choice
that little stoma dude
has his own voice.
Sometimes my bag fills up with gas
and just to have a little fun
I'll open that bag up
and watch everybody run.
Now I hang out
at meet an ostomate dot org
where the cool people are
and pretty women galore!
If you have read this far
man, I pity you,
but then maybe you are blessed
to have a stoma too.