I'm in Sickbay.
But I report to transporter.

We're beaming down.
Jim says, "Injured Horta,
a silicon-based form.
Bones, you got to heal it back to norm."

I am a Doc!
I'm not a brick...layer!

A shuttlecraft
it crashed on Rigel 7.
Scotty calls me up.
"Doctor, can ye help me?
This poor bairn, she is fried.
If we don't get it fixed, good men will have died!"

I am a Doc!
I'm not an en...gineer!

Don't talk of love.
Well, Jim's been in love before.
On too many planets.
He's loved 'em and he's left 'em.
And he's cried in some beers.
Now, Spock says,
"Doctor, it's been seven years."

I am a Doc!
I'm not a match...maker!

I have my books
and my tricorder to help me.
But I'm going nuts.
Patients still complain.
People I disdain.
Then I touch them, and they say
"Bones, don't touch me!"

I am a Doc!
I need a va...cation!

And a Doc needs some rest.
And Saurian brandy chilled.