Meth Poem: The Cook
A Poem About Cooking Methamphetamine
Poem submitted by: “Big Dog” – Written while in Folsom Prison
There are only a few who know the trade – How methamphetamine is made.
They live their lives always on the run – Just waiting for the next batch to be done.
Peeking around corners in fear of a bust – As they’re bright shiny dreams crumble to dust.
Women who are only driven by lust – Whose only desire is the crystal white dust?
Everyone wants a piece of the pie – So C’mon man, let’s get high!
But once there up, they only wig out – Leaving their minds to treachery and doubt.
And the cook’s well aware of their grief – Of knowing his friends are only thieves.
Either caught in the act or burned in a deal – By supposed friends designing what is real.
There’s only one way a cook can win – And that by having a partner who is true to the end.
In a true partner who is strong at heart – Exists a bond that none can part.
Together weeding out the crooks, cops – Lowlife’s, backstabbers and the lames.
Jointly running a business impossible to stop – Blazing a trail straight to the top.
But what will it cost you for the Great Life? Nothing much – just you’re family, home, friends and your life.
There’s nothing on Earth that’s worth such a cost – Not to mention all the time that you spent in prison that you’ve lost.
So, once you get there don’t forget what it took… To Be The Man who knows how to cook.