Yeah
Ouchie, ouchie, ouchie (whoo-ooh!), that can't be right (haha)
Uh, whoo, yeah (owie), whoo, whoo (uh), whoo (this blows)

Sorry, man, my arm's sore, can't say much more
Might be off if I guess how, oy
I won't armchair diagnose, that's abhorred, uh, uh, uh, uh (yeah)
An explanation you're waitin' for?
Pardon me, missed how you implored
Cause the pain is quite above "it annoys"
Friggin' pain

It happened out of the blue, friggin' hate that
Because you can't know what to do, make a plan (yep)
When it creeps up on you and stabs
Not lit'rally, man, the pain comes in a snap, sudden-like, my
Brain then slows, thought train is dead
What was I doin' before the pain hit? Can't think
Did I nick the elbow tip
On the doorknob while just walkin' through? Can't connect
Any synapses cause they've all been focused
On "Oh my god, I'm straight bleedin' to death!" Yep, yep
My lobes are in that moment
Exaggerate so friends and family notice
It might turn out bogus, a trick
Nervous tic blown way out of proportion (-tion)
I'll chill and breathe, check if it's leavin' (-vin')
Shit, all indications say "real situation"

Now I know my arm's sore, must find the source
In the core of which bone? Must point
Out the fact that they number sixty-four, ho, ho, ho (yeah), whoo
So through each one I now have to pore
Not fun, see, a task I abhore
And this pain of mine keeps my focus floored
Through each one I now have to pore *sigh*

More than a damn boo-boo, more than a whoopsy-doo
Pain that I have's so huge, I'm sure I am screwed
I'll have an uneven frame, arm goes away, true
Need to work out what is is 'fore I become that dude ('fore I become that dude)
That makes ev'ryone stop and stare
Then blame me for criminalities "One-armed man's over there!" (yeah)
Must stop the panic, make my thoughts real clear
Did I wear a sleeve too tight? Or did I sleep on that side?
Might say it's not important
Wastin' all my time, it's the doctor's job, that's true
Got the doct'rate to problem solve, rude
Let them use their accrued knowledge from degrees (uh, whoo)
That's not my aim here, all I mean
To do here is a distraction, you see (you see)
My brain can't work on problems
And scream in pain from what is throbbin'
So just let me work out why my arm's sore
And make a call, please, it's three numbers, dork, c'mon

The fire I'm feelin' is not there lit'rally
So far from painless, like I've a chest furnace
If this gets worse, you'll just get texts from me
Until this gets better, which doesn't seem real soon
Stuff comin' up my throat, got stuff comin' up my throat
Erupts out from my face, possibly on the way to you
Stuff comin' up my throat, got stuff comin' up my throat
Don't wanna spread this bad strain that I just can't explain

I've got awful lungs, doesn't seem real fair
To feel this fire with each breath of air
I get coughin' fits with all that I do
Hard to sing this piece but I must push through
I've got awful lungs
Sorry, man, my arm's sore, can't say much more, more, more, more
I've got awful lungs
Cause the pain is quite above "it annoys" (oh-oh)
Pain is quite above "it annoys"