The pills have arrived since they’ve found Purdue’s kick.
The bongs they have chucked; something new they cheer.
The pills got their start when they found Purdue’s shtik.
They start by crushing those white rocks so dear.

Then start up some heat ’neath a spoon that don’t serve
food—it is not culinary.
They’ll start to get high when the spike’s applied
to a vein with a squeeze,
right after they’ve cooked it, and then it’s all
gone until the next day.
They’re feeling alright, sticking in sticks, Appalachia way.

They go for the pills; there’s one problem only:
Many are ODing by the score.
Departed to rest ’cause they found Purdue’s kick.
Now they’ll stick no more.