What The Atom-Bomb Shall I Do?

'What the atom bomb shall I do? ' When I can't control my bowel Or bladder to urinate or do, That all-important number 1 or number 2. Of course, you can blow the world To smithereens for all I care. If I'm wheeled into that nursing home There'll be no airs or graces, I swear. I will be better off in the sanatorium, Blazing-mad, about the ECT chair. Then saddled in an orderly routine. 'Wondering who the hells washing my hair.' To be fair there's not much difference In-here-or-out-there! There's no control When-all's-said-and-done, I'm a nuisance A-has-been never will be again tadpole. Oh, what faculties I took for granted When my wiring and plumbing were fine. Such anemic-drunks, eternally, lauded Laughing at the Alc/vol in their urine. As being only 3.8 they're lining the bars, in Care homes, less than prostrate like tenpin- Bowls... Look 'there's that tiny skip again.' Over there by the yellow soiled-waist bin, So old chaps I guess I'm officially now done in.