Garden hose

Hey there Matt, don’t you pout,

Next week they’re gonna check your plumbing out,

It ain’t fun, but it’s routine,

They’ll make you squeaky clean behind the scenes.

It’s just a garden hose up your butt,

No need to worry, no need to strut,

You’ll be knocked out dreamin’ of pie,

While that little hose says a quick hi.

Your cheeks might clench, your pride may dip,

But your colon’s takin’ a victory trip.

Yeah, it’s a hose up there, but trust the doc,

You’ll roll out fine like a squeaky clean rock.

The prep is worse, you’ll sit and wait,

On the porcelain throne, contemplatin’ fate.

But once it’s done, you’ll feel so free,

Like your butt just passed its PhD.

So raise a glass to your GI tract,

It’s been through some things, and now it’s back.

Next week’s weird, but you’ll survive—

You’ll leave that room feelin’ so alive!

It’s just a garden hose up your butt,

Don’t need a medal, but hey, what a gut!

Science is wild, and slightly absurd,

But you’re gonna be fine, spread the word.

So relax, Matt, it’s almost here,

And soon your rear will have no fear.

Yep—just a hose, no need to cry,

You’ll be back eatin’ tacos by Friday night.