| Of all the mystery and wonder
|
| And beauty on this earth
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| Nothing can compare to
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| The miracle of birth
|
| Well your cervix has been closed
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| And plugged with mucus
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| But soon that viscous plug
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| Will be discharged
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| It’s called ‘bloody show.'
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| And explosive diarrhea
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| Means that labor’s drawing nearer
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| And those sharp painful contractions
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| Cause your cervix to enlarge
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| Beautiful!
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| Then you race your ass
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| Over to the hospital
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| Where they’ll strap you in
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| For the hell ride of your life
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| It’s what your body’s made for
|
| You’ll soon be in so much pain
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| That you’ll probably exclaim
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| «Please just kill me now
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| Doctor, doula, or midwife!»
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| Tear, tear, tear
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| Goes your vagina!
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| Never will it be
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| Its cute little self again
|
| But the good news is
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| If you have a few more kids
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| The rest will basically
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| Plop right out
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| After hours and hours
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| Of utter torture
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| You may poop yourself and/or
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| Throw up as you bear down
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| Cause you’re a goddess!
|
| And though you’ve never
|
| Been this tired—Wait!
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| Here comes the ring of fire
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| That’s your vagina bursting
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| Into flames as the head
|
| Starts to crown
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| Burn, burn, burn
|
| Goes your vagina!
|
| And you’ll curse and scream
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| Until you hear a cry!
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| It’s your baby!
|
| And oops! |
| There it went-a
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| That was the placenta
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| Which you must expel
|
| Or you will surely die!
|
| When it’s all over they place
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| The baby on your breast
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| You may be happy for a moment
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| But then for months you’ll be depressed
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| 'Cause you’ve wrecked your life and body
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| You’ll think «What's it really worth?»
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| All that for the miracle of birth! |