The Trouble with Making up Songs

Okay, so the Butcher is a night person and I'm a morning person. As a morning person and his sister, I'm often compelled by some inner drive to make up songs to sing to him as early in the morning as I can. The only drawback is that we really have the worst names ever for song. It's not just that so many people in our family's name starts with the letter B--the Butcher, Aunt B., the recalcitrant brother, the Reverend, my mom, my Aunt B., my four uncles B., etc., but also that the Butcher and I both have names that rhyme with unfortunate bodily functions. Which means, when I'm singing at 7:30 in the morning to the Butcher, the only words I'm coming up with are fart and art. And, believe me, when you've faced a lifetime of "wetsy," you're a lot less likely to go with "fart." So, this morning, I was singing

Get up and take me to work Get up and take me to work Get up and take me to work Get up, get up, get up, young [Butcher] Get up and... and... and I'll make myself some lunch and by then you'll be ready to go

and he slowly opens his eyes, pats around for his glasses, checks the time, and says, "Get up so we can depart." And I say to him, "I'm the singer but you're the one with the mad rhyming skills? That's not fair. Are you secretly a rapper?" "Don't make me shoot you." "It always comes down to shooting the bitches for you rappers, doesn't it?" "I was counting you among the hoes."