Call Me "IRREG" For Short

Feeling kinda cruddy, yup, that's the word
Too many fries, too many burgs

When will I learn I can't handle that stuff
Stomach rebels, starts causing a fuss

Once could eat nails and all kinds of gunk
Now I eat mush and ground up junk

My teeth are all gone, can't chew anymore
Things go down whole, my tummy gets sore

So such is the life of this senior type dude
Head for the washroom, each time I eat food

Food disappears like famous greased lightning
Or I sit there for hours, really quite frightening

Irregularity's my name, I'm “IRREG” for short
Hope an operation, I don't have to resort

An artificial esophagus transplanted in me
So I can go regular like it once used to be

Oh for the days when I could eat all that junk
Those days are gone, who woulda thunk

That one day I'd be eating my morning cereal
Laced with Metamucil or some such material!