When I went to the restroom, it was time to squat and push
then later in the afternoon, I had a tender tush
perhaps it is a Jewish curse, it runs in my family
you could almost trace it, through our old ancestral tree.
It all started back in Poland, and continues ’til today
my bubbe suffered soreness, and my ancient Auntie Rae
they used some oily ointments, and many were outlandish
some were even South American, created by the Spanish.
Witches and warlocks whipped up brews, a few were rather stinky
they threw in goat appendages, and a butcher’s torn off pinky
they had no Preparation H, nor doctors to consult
it was flying by the seat of pants, and dreaming of results.
Their endeavors were exhausting, all they wanted was relief
an end to all the itching, that gave them so much grief
so may their booties rest in peace, I’m still searching for a cure
I’ll drive now to the drugstore, and a cream I will procure.