George was quick, George was slick.
George could jump. It was his shtik.
He’d run, he’d crouch, and then he’d leap
And whoosh and zip - away he’d go.
He’d sommersault and whoops, he’d spin
And tumble down into a heap.
But George, he was a guy gung ho
Although he landed on his chin.

So George’s doctor fixed his jaw.
He patched him up without a flaw.
He gave George a jaw of brass.
It glistened in the morning light.
People gazed upon his mug.
They’d drop their eyes and quickly pass.
For George could be a scary sight.
Or else they’d stare and slightly shrug.

But George, ever the optimist,
Found sports he never could resist.
He’d play rough games, leap off chasms
Wearing just a parachute
And rather heavy climbing boots.
But tumbled landings gave him spasms.
Twenty times he’d squashed his snoot
And cracked his hips on tough tree roots.

But always, George could be repaired.
His doctor took him in and cared.
Each bone George smashed was fixed with steel.
His skin was stitched with copper plate.
Hs heart became a pump, pneumatic.
And soon there was no flesh to heal.
Nevertheless, George felt great
Looking really charismatic.

Te last to go was George’s brain
Which proved, at end, a great gain.
It was replaced by a computer
Driven by a CPU.
He no more fumbled, slipped or fell
And, frankly, girls found him cuter,
Easily repaired with glue
But one thing made him feel not well.

Although he worked with more perfection
And every part had good connection
And he could climb the highest peak
And ride through space without a suit
And leap across the widest gorge
And read in Finnish, French and Greek,
He’d often squeak and howl and hoot
And wonder sadly, “Where is George?”