Radioactive
I’ve had this little operation, on the theatre table laid
prostrate,
They’ve fixed me up, and I’m good to go, ‘cos they’ve
irradiated my prostate.
Yes they treated me with radiation, with hundreds of tiny
little seeds,
Now I’m full of alpha particles that will soon provide
for all my needs.
I’ve got my own internal power source, which is a most
important factor.
Now I’m a little generator, like a tiny nuclear reactor.
This fusion makes me glow in the dark, just like the ad
with the Reddy-Brek kid,
And if the nation gets short of power, they’ll just
connect me to the National Grid.
Now you’ll see I’ve got a new demeanour, that there’s a
special quality to my gaze:
It comes from a sense of inner power – well that, and I’m
transmitting gamma rays.
And it’s bound to make me so much fitter, a claim I think
you’ll find is fair,
Cause now I can only go out and about if I’m sporting my
lead underwear.
And now I’m fit and full of energy, a Geiger-counter provides
the metric:
I’m a low-carbon, lean, green machine, and I generate my
own electric.
Not only that: there’s something else to tell : this
medical advance that’s come to pass,
Means that now I have this inner light, so the sun really
does shine out my ass.
These hot spots of uranium provide me with lots of future
hope.
It’ll take me decades to decay, thanks to the half-life
of my isotope.
There’s only one cloud on the horizon, something that
might cause me to frown:
There could perhaps be a nuclear accident, and my innards
might go into melt-down.
So just be careful when you come to bury me: it might
have to be a very long way down.
You won’t want me in your neighbourhood, so it’ll have to
be a long way out of town.
Anyway, there’s only one thing puzzling me: now that I’ve
become radio-active,
And that I’m fully solar-powered, will it make me any
more attractive?
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