Your Disease Is Nicer

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