My iPhone

My iPhone
(To the tune of “My Guy,” written by Smokey Robinson and recorded by Mary Wells)

Nothing I could buy, could make me put aside
My iPhone.
There’s not a book I need, everything I can read
On my iPhone.
My iPhone is my buddy, It belongs in my pocket
At night right beside me it’s charging in the socket.
I’m simply mad about, what I couldn’t live without.
My iPhone.

I google and I’m smart, but not when I’m apart
From my iPhone.
I only know to go, to find what I should know
On my iPhone.
I’m searching and I’m texting and I’m tweeting fast.
Get a screen-light high, my heart is beating fast.
In winter how I love, what I’m holding in my glove.
My iPhone.

Now scientists are finding phones can make you dumb
If you seldom use your brain and only use you thumbs.
Melania should inform President Trump
How his thumbs are getting larger
While his brain’s a stump.

My intelligence wanes, and the doctor explains
It’s my iPhone.
Few people I will meet, cause I rather would tweet
Them on my iPhone.
My iPhone’s an extension of who I am.
My humanity’s dying and I don’t give a damn.
Like an addict getting kicks, always itching for a fix
From my iPhone.

Lyric © 2017 by Robert S. Steinberg, Esquire
All rights reserved.