Drug Dealers

I do hate thee and count the ways. you hide inside a toxic haze. That rotten smell, sound of your voice your place is Hell, you have no choice. I must assume that God can make a witch with broom and you, the flake. But his intent? It will not click, who would invent a drug-soaked prick? Well, up in Heaven, the two discuss, each night at seven the earthly fuss. Satan and God debate and choose, and give the nod to those who lose. Thus God receives repenting souls, while Satan grieves for ugly moles. Will they decide for gutter-creeps, through whose thin hide the badness seeps? A low-life man like you arrives, whose evil plan ruined many lives. No one will cringe, you'll plead in vain. Take the syringe, Scum Of Cocaine! Of all the fools a handful lack those innate rules, they won't come back. The time will come when D N A of filth and scum will have to pay. ANNIHILATE each single cell, that is your fate. You won't make Hell.