Well, I walk and it gives me woes, now.
I guess I'd better go now
To see feet fixer; he'll make it right.

Plantar fasciitis surmised,
Street's quite hard on malo toe--
The pain! Contused and numb, apprised.
Kills me--better go,
Ills me--better go.

Shoes on feet ain't right. . .need some sole stitchin'.
First I thought, "It's a wrenching stone."
Turned my heel as I wandered, achy,
Stumblin', I let out a groan.

Well my digits feel like minced croquets,
Sneakers squeeze like tourniquets,
As if I snuffed lit cigarettes--
Dermis fried gets,
Burns and I frets,
Squirms I and frets,
Hurts. . .epithets!

Shoes on feet ain't right, so I stroll bitchin'.
"Hurts!" I cry with a wretched groan,
"Burns" I squeal as I maunder, quaky,
Stumble in where neon shown
"Shoe man."

Well, the cobbler says, "Son, we're closed now,
So you will have to go now.
I feel your pain, but it's late at night
Shoes tight?
Tough shite."