What'll I do till my fingers dry? Till the messy little grabbers get their way?  I would cancel all the answers in the wink of an eye  Just to give my hands a decent place to play    I don't wanna hear about your poor, private hell  I don't need to see you scars or count your tumors  I'm corrupt, and I'm feeling swell  Why do you complain so often when your disease is nicer?  Your disease is nicer  Everybost trusts in me that I'll make them well  Now I'm here to put an end to all those rumors  When you meet my prize personnel  You're as good as in your coffin, 'cause your disease is nicer  Your disease is nicer than mine    Standing all day in a sterile room  Can leave a surgeon feeling kinda drained  I'm bored with all your bleedin' and I'm sick of your doom  You're only here to keep me entertained    Year after year, my practice thrives  And I still treat my patients all the same  I play with their emotions and collect on their lives  And someone else will always get the blame