Ode to a Crackhead

I've been reading through some of my previous posts and I realized that I haven't written anything recently about crackheads. This is slightly worse than alarming to me since I relied heavily on the unintentional comedy provided by these monuments to human achievement to carry my first few posts on this little thing I like to call a weblog. Well, no longer will I neglect the three-toothed bum that lives next to the Scrub-A-Dub or the woman with no eyebrows who calls 23rd St. her home. I am not responsible for the stupid shit that follows. May god have mercy on my soul.

I present:

Ode to a Crackhead

Crackheads abound, with them streets are filled
Minus a couple, for crack they were killed
Pleasant and friendly, they're always polite
Except when they're cracked out and roaming at night
Looking for quarters, or small animals to be eaten
Only some white rocks their deal could sweeten
But Lou's not around, that worthless crack slinger
He's banging his third wife, a low-rent lounge singer
And the only dealer around at this ridiculous hour
Cuts his shit with Drano, Ajax and flour
What must a man do to find him some rocks
Must he resort to slobbing on cocks
On the gay side of town to feed his desire
To put crack in a pipe and to touch it with fire
To fry up his brain as smoke curls in his mouth
Oh Shit! Muthafucka! He knows some dude on South
Where the street intersects at an awkward degree
Bitch, he gettin' his rocks, but shit they ain't free
Looks like another bag paid for on his knees
Don't look for a moral because there ain't one
Just another dumb crackhead whose mission is done

Worthy of the Pulitzer? I think yes.