I got a blister on K-2.

I thought I might go mad

in old Islamabad.

But I never got sick of you.

You could insult me for an hour,

then make me laugh for two.

You’d join me in the shower

if I wore one shoe.

I got a thousand itches

and I hate me some bitches.

There’s one I really loathe in Timbuktu.

You served me whey and curds

and made me eat my words.

But I never got sick of you.

You put me through my paces,

hooked me up with braces,

made both bad and good dreams

all come true.

It busted up my pride

and made me hot inside.

But I never got sick of you.