I can add some cobalt,
Perhaps it will turn blue,
Sh*t, I made the beaker explode,
There's glass stuck in my shoe.

Crap, the gas is turned too high,
My project's looking grave,
I find myself wishing for death,
And to crawl into a cave.

Dissecting makes my guts squirm,
I find myself with disgust,
At the sight of the frog that I just cut open,
Its organs covered in a thin crust.

To science, I extend a hand,
Perhaps of friendship, perhaps of hate,
But god forbid if I have to *****,
And I'm two minutes late.