Fred's trip to the dentist

The more miserable you make me,
The more you charge.
Making my mouth feel extremely large.

Still you twist and pull and push.
Oh, oh, pain, so bad
You’d better stop before I get mad.

Finally it ends; I stumble to the desk
Only to get the final stab
Writing a check while my blood I dab.

“I can fill that space,” you say.
Then you smile and tell me the rest.
Five thousand dollars! You surely do jest.

Did I really come here on my very own?
To suffer this way
And then have to pay?