They can't burn it off; it's driving me crazy;
I try bites; it's achin' me next to a crown.
I take something to numb it; then I'm hazy
Need get tooth into some spuds, ground round.

My canker sore. . .forced to lite-dine--
I can't shred filet.
I parfait-sup, cup of brine--
Baby backs--take away.

I want real gustation,
Like some kine with hooves.
My canker sore. . .forced to lite-dine
With canker-sore-formed grooves.

I'll talk about lamb now, tasty menu entry;
Love it as tournados; turbot, too, would be good.
Talk about hungry, nurse, my tummy's empty;
Least I ain't got Washington teeth--wood.

My canker sore. . .forced to lite-dine--
I can't shred filet.
I parfait-sup, tip up wine;
I'm a-wastin' away.

I get ulceration
From a three-tined tool.
A canker sore formed; I lite-dine
On canker-sore-forced gruel.