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.