Stop It!

By Ian McChicken

When the hell are you gonna stop smoking?

I hold my hands on my neck because of the nonstop choking.

Is it when the clock strikes its last ticktock?

Or is it when you go to hell and start to knock,

"Hey Devil, come and get me.

Now my son will be totally set free"

That's what you would say with a sarcastic tone,

like you do when your taking medications and enter "The Twilight Zone."

(Twilight Zone Music) is that what you speak next?

I don't know, probably, continue reading the text.

Blame, blame, blame, that's all you ever do.

You should be ashamed, "It's your fault Ian" Wow! Is that new?

After reading this poem you'll probably walkout unfazed.

When I become rich & famous you'll say,"That's the son that I raised,"

But deep inside you'll know that, that is a lie,

when your sitting on your ass, doing nothing, you deserve to die.

You see me on TV thanking all for the award,

but leaving you out, out of the electrical circuit, I pulled out the cord.

Lights out, lots more pain for you Dad,

no more people to blame, doesn't that make you sad?

I don't want any discussion on this topic,

Want change? Fine, no more smoking, STOP IT!