His lungs fill up with smoke,
until he starts a coughing spree
Their way of saying stop it,
yet he's too blind to see
The right lung says to the left one,
What are we going to do?
Let's throw him into a spasm,
until his cigarette is through
Meanwhile the cigarette calls out,
One more puff for old times sake
Don't let your lungs make a decision,
that you don't really want to make
Wasn't I there to confort you?
Weren't I your best friend?
Take some time to think it over,
before saying it's the end
Again he coughs, his face all red,
He knows what he must do
He crumples the pack up in his hand,
sorry boys, alas we're through