Hunter's been humbled, Joe's crime family defamed.
With Hunter's slap on the wrist, American's have been gamed.
Joe Biden breathes easier, Merrick covered his back.
Hunter bolted to the basement, needing a big jolt of crack.
He slammed it he jammed it, he dropped to the floor.
He danced the old funky chicken, like never before.
He flipped and he flopped, his feet kicking the air.
He couldn't stand being sober, he wasn't no square.
His mouth was frothing, he swallowed his tongue.
His buzz was ginormis, Good god was he spun.
He finally caught the dragon, the ultimate rush.
If He got it together his mind would be mush.
The grim reaper was watching, he waved him away.
He wasn't checking out this wasn't his day.
His heart like a jackhammer, pounded in his chest.
He'd had some good sh*t but this was the best.
Three hours later his heatbeat finally slowed down.
His breathing was normal so he'd still be around.
He pulled his syringe from his arm and refilled his spoon.
With twice as much dope, He'd send himself to the moon.
He cooked it, he juked it, his eyes popped from his head.
His last thought on earth was "It feels like I'm dead.
No funky chicken, , his heart straight up, exploded.
 He looked down on his corpse, as above it he floated.
He fell into a tunnel, that took him straight to Hell.
As he fell into the furnace, his last thought was "Oh Well"
D.L. Crockett -- 6/24/23