Work Text:
There once was a young man named Sammy
Whose body had gotten quite clammy
And when he awoke
His brother did choke
And Sammy did call him a pamby.
Sam was lacking an angel for healing
(Cas was gone, before God he was kneeling)
When you're down in the grave
There's no need to shave
But your body is not so appealing.
With his bones he could play at mancala
Or hit the notes: do re me fa so la,
So his body was sunk,
And quite frankly it stunk,
And dripped parts all over the 'Pala.
So torqued was Dean by his dumb brother
He glared 'cross the seat at the other
"Dear Sammy," he said,
"I'm glad you're not dead,
But fix this or you I will smother."
"Resurrection is practic'ly annual
But there's still not a handy Dead Manual,"
Sam's black eyes did flash,
He patted the dash,
"So fuck off, be nice, I'm King Samuel."
"Oh sorry your highness, forgive me,
There's no crown on your brow that I see,
So shut up you bitch,
Don't scratch if you itch,
And pray there's an answer from Bobby."
They drove through the hours with quiet,
And Sammy was stuck lest folk riot,
For his visage was grim,
He was missing a limb -
At least brains were not in his diet.
So how did they fix this disaster?
Not spells and some oil of castor.
With one perfect tear
That's followed by beer
And quite manly hugs chased with laughter.