You think that I look like a no-good methhead;
you think that by the nose I’m meth-led.

It’s true: I substance-toot, always getting high.
I’m having a ball and I’m feeling spry.
The nasal thing you see’s from coca created.
I look pretty drugged, although not sedated, nah!

Substance-toot—powder, not crack!
I’d never touch that nasty smack.
Take a big snort and my head slams back.
You’ll find I ain’t mute. . .go on a rapping attack.

I don’t cook with a rancid spoon; ain’t by mouth
that I gorge on a pharma feast,
so my nose is heading south.

No, I don’t share. . .operative word: “mine.”
In case you’re Amish, go get thine
own; otherwise, why don’t you go bye-bye.
The perquisites befall those with cache of cash to buy.

Substance-toot—me begin,
substance-toot—I snort it in,
substance-toot: I’m rarely mum—
I need to get some talking done!

When I substance-toot, I am never shy;
I’ve a buccal squall that could blast Cap. Bligh.
The nasal thing you see’s from coca created.
I look pretty drugged. And I’m just elated, yeah!!

Gonna pour me a glass of prune juice. . .dry mouth.
I then gorge this sweet liquid feast
down my gullet, heading south.

No, I don’t share. . .operative word: “mine.”
I admit: I’m a greedy swine. ..
a metaphor! I don’t live in a sty.
I’m perkin’ up from all that blanchèd mass blasting by.

Substance-toot—gee, I’m thin,
substance-toot. . .don’t go for gin,
substance-toot: I’m rarely mum.
Food feast?! There’s rarely noshing done!