Everyone needs some money to get by,
But most prefer to do so by doing good.
You’ve chosen to make yours by selling highs
Or, rather, lows, here in my neighbourhood.
I’ve seen you and your customers in the woods
Or gathered round your holdall on a path,
While a little way off, and smoking weed,
Your sidekick checks there aren’t police about.
Class A drugs aren’t harming your bank account:
You look well-dressed, well-fed, well-groomed, unlike
Your customers. You’re clever, I’ve no doubt:
You don’t consume what ruins an addict’s life.
I’m sorry for them, for all that they go through,
But no, not sorry in the least for you.