Down at Tit-Squash Central,
we're waiting for our scans.
Our tops are on and off and on
and off and on, again.
Our boobs are lubed and drawn on,
we're told to 'just relax',
then tits are clamped securely
within the x-ray's grasp.
My boobs are horizontal now
and flatter than before.
It feels as though they might explode,
I think they've gone too far.
They shouldn't be this shape at all,
a sort of compact disc.
Never mind the atom,
I think me tits are gonna split!
Good god, release the teatery!
Unlock this vile machinery!
Surely this cannot be right?!
I want to scream, I want to fight.
Release the left! Release the right!
Unleash my tender breasticles!
Eventually the beast unclamps.
My bosom is disgruntled.
I comfort them and weigh them up,
just to check they haven't shrunk,
imploded, done a bunk on me,
then shuffle to the waiting room,
sit down with poorly battered baps
and do my best to 'just relax'
but next time
I might just punch some fucker's lights out.