Bobby to the road was goin’
Lookin’ for the land of Roadkilldom, finding flat
Animals that under tires went Splat!
He’d get it from backroads, not the main
He’d go home and roast his roadkill game
Make himself a tasty lunch
Have some leftovers for a brunch
He’d say “yes” to a roasted goat
Draw the line at croaking toad croaked

Bob had trouble with decisions
Way back in the daze of his college life
So to a dealer he did go
To help make thinking more direct
He’s gratified to connect
And then he made his first buy
He cooked some down to just enough drops
For a dropper and vein pop
He’d start out with a small dose
Hoping his brain slowness was toast

In college he’d been known by most as the class dolt
Because he’d had grades way below C’s
It was hard to get a grip
But now he hoped that he could snap
Out of academic crap
Record was pretty shitty
Cerebrum celerity
Was what he hoped that he had found
His arm, a tourniquet around
Then, up the mainline juice goes
To his worm-brain-dined head it goes

Heroin was best for Bobby
Heroin from the spike, he really liked it, yeah!
Because that mainline into his vein
Sent directly to worm-grazed head
Better than grub that’s lain-slain-dead
Although he is missing certain lobes
The ones the worm probed and then gorged
One guess said it fressed nearly a pound
Spike anodyne assisted bringing thinking ’around
And he no longer felt just like a clown
It was a miracle that he had found
Even though is brain was partially cored
He wanted more happy juice in his blood
Blood flowing to worm-eaten head
He had become a sufficient dread
For a crapinet nomination where
He could destroy nation’s healthcare
To his Fuehrer he could go
Shoot up while the Fuehrer snorts blow