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Becky says, eat two of these, 

you’ll like’em;

they’re called christmas trees.

Darvocet and Ativan,

Becky's got 'em in her hand,

Xanax, Somas, Adderall,

all you have to do is call

and Becky has what you’re looking for;

real 14s, the ones from Rorer.

Becky has what you can’t find;

black tar, benzos, white sunshine.

In spite of what you may have heard,

the war on drugs has not deterred;

Becky's sales are off the chart,

and that, perhaps, is due in part

to rehabs run like Burger Kings

and war declared on everything.

If Becky closed the store tonight,

twenty more are still in sight;

what becomes of Becky's wares

depends on what the market bears,

the dollar says what justice sells,

prison's hard but jail is hell,

and how would law and order pay

if all the Beckys went away.



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