[Intro] Signed my name at eight-fifteen, still sittin’ here at nine. That plastic plant looks healthier than this busted tooth of mine. [Verse 1] A kid keeps kickin’ the table leg, somebody’s coughin’ in G. The TV chef is smilin’ wide— that feels personal to me. The clock hand jerks but never moves, my phone is down to three. The receptionist says, “Five more minutes.” She said that twice at eight-fifty-three. [Pre-Chorus] Then that drill starts singin’ through the wall— (Not your turn!) I hear a grown man mumble, “Lord.” (That’s gonna burn!) The door swings wide, she calls a name... Thank heaven, it ain’t mine. Then she looks back down and clears her throat: “Sir, you’re next in line.” [Chorus] I got the Plastic Throne Blues on a plastic throne, with a dying phone and a jawbone moan. That drill goes whirrr and my backbone shakes, while the doc finds three more problems than the one that aches. I came for relief, now I’m bargaining with fate— I got the Plastic Throne Blues, and the doctor’s running late. [Instrumental Turnaround] [Verse 2] They clip on a bib like I’m fixin’ to dine, then tilt me halfway to the floor. He says, “You may feel a little pressure”— I’ve heard that lie before. He names every tool like an old best friend, then asks me where I’m from. I try to say, “Just save the tooth,” but the suction steals my tongue. [Pre-Chorus] He says, “Open wider.” (Wider!) I’m already touchin’ my knees. He says, “Hold still.” (Hold still!) While my left foot begs to leave. Then the needle lands, the whole room bends, and every ceiling tile turns bright. I grip that chair like it owes me money and mumble, “Do what’s right.” [Chorus] I got the Plastic Throne Blues with a numb left cheek, tryin’ to say “all good,” but I can’t quite speak. That drill goes whirrr like a hornet in a can, and I’m sweatin’ through the shirt of a fully grown man. He says, “Almost done”—that’s the oldest trick in the trade. I got the Plastic Throne Blues, and I already overpaid. [Bridge] I saw my whole life in a ceiling stain: every midnight candy run, every toothbrush I walked past ’cause I was tired and “almost done.” Then he held that little mirror up like judgment on a stick— I promised floss, clean living, and whatever gets me out here quick. [Guitar Solo] [Final Chorus] I got the Plastic Throne Blues, but I made it through, one tooth fewer and a bill brand new. My cheek hangs low, but my pride hangs lower, and the parking meter says I should’ve suffered faster. Next time I’ll brush, floss, rinse, repeat— (You said that last time!) Yeah, but fear makes a liar sound awful sweet. I came in hurtin’, now I’m numb and broke— Plastic Throne Blues... ain’t no dentist joke. [Outro] Now I brush every mornin’, and I floss every night... Well— most every night.
