My new chair

They tell me that it wasn't designed for comfort
Of the person or people who are made to sit upon it
But I don't know if it will fit my fat ass so perfectly
Waiting in my row of cells, calling out my number
I made the walk, still in chains, and I admonished
I told the executioner to apply the wires carefully
As it might happen that my comfort wouldn't last
While I'd be fried senseless from an electrical blast