Oh my panc is like big corn cob
That crapped out one September;
Oh my panc is like the laziest
Of my endocrine board members

So fair art thou, pain in the ass
So much work that you don’t do;
Yet I will love thee still, oh panc
Till you go get a clue.

Till you go get a clue, my dear,
And the clue makes you un-forget;
Because you’ll start making some insulin
From deep in your islets.

So fare thee well my weaksauce panc
Oh fare thee well, you clown.
Because I still rise each day, my love,
Diabetes won’t hold me down. *

(*sorry, Robert Burns)
 

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