I hope this time it's not in vain

You fix me up with things that do not mix

But worst of all, you have an appetite for six

I am your mind and I complain

I hope this time it’s not in vain

You fix me up with thoughts that do not mix

But worst of all, the stormy thoughts will not provide a fix

 

In filling up the mind you say you’re feeling well

But I say: you’re giving me a bloody hell

When filling up you really don't behave

But worst of all, I was not built to a be holodecky's cave

 

I am your mind and I do not approve your choice of mental food

Unless you listen I will put you in a lousy mood

If I run riot you will wind up at a funny farmers club

Why, monkey, do you treat me as if I'm just a sailor's pub?