I got chopped off there, sorry:
Chorus: My ulcer and my tapeworm, it's so very plain to see That it doesn't really matter much/ which one finally kills me.
Verse: The rising of the acid/ and the churning of my gut I hoped there'd be some help for me, but they yawned and said, "so, what?"
Verse: Now I gobble malox, mylanta and DiGel, But it's really much too late for that/ I've already gone to hell.
I get it when I'm working from quarters near and far/ and I wonder how(if) I made it safe and sane thus far.
Hope this spate of creativity brings a smile. Hardiman