White Lightning

Looking, Looking, Feds tried to book him, but the tweaker kept on cooking.

Photo by Museums Victoria on Unsplash

Whistling through wicked backwoods of Virginia, deep in the pines,
Hidden in the shadows on the walls of the shaved white lines,
Lived an old tweaker and he had him a lab,
Brewed Sally til the sun went down,
Filled his bubble and he passed it around.

Mighty mighty aiming to please,
Feds flying creeping through the trees,
Shrouded secrets in the overgrown shack,
In the veins of the covered track,
Evidence concealed in the boarded-up shed,
9 mil undercover in the pillow beneath his head,
Blue lights in the windows flashing,
All around come down, earth-shattering crashing,

Mighty mighty aiming to please,
Feds flying creeping through the trees,
Looking, looking, trying to book him,
But the tweaker kept on cooking,
White Lightning.
Asking himself why he called his seed,
White lightning instead of high-speed chicken feed,