Out Of Sorts

When you find you're a broken-down critter,     Who is all of a trimmle and twitter,     With your palate unpleasantly bitter,     As if you'd just bitten a pill -     When your legs are as thin as dividers,     And you're plagued with unruly insiders,     And your spine is all creepy with spiders,     And you're highly gamboge in the gill -     When you've got a beehive in your head,     And a sewing machine in each ear,     And you feel that you've eaten your bed,     And you've got a bad headache DOWN HERE -     When such facts are about,     And these symptoms you find     In your body or crown -     Well, it's time to look out,     You may make up your mind     You had better lie down!     When your lips are all smeary - like tallow,     And your tongue is decidedly yallow,     With a pint of warm oil in your swAllow,     And a pound of tin-tacks in your chest -     When you're down in the mouth with the vapours,     And all over your new Morris papers     Black-beetles are cutting their capers,     And crawly things never at rest -     When you doubt if your head is your own,     And you jump when an open door slams -     Then you've got to a state which is known     To the medical world as "jim-jams."     If such symptoms you find     In your body or head,     They're not easy to quell -     You may make up your mind     You are better in bed,     For you're not at all well!