Alchemisland

Thick checker, please put your leg up

Ticket checker, trainriding get up

In the thicket wearing leather, pursuing pleasure 

Shabbat under intense pressure to close up shutters

Empty all summer, they want me closed once someone shuffles in

Fuck that, working when I need to ain’t no sin

Linking me from the clink

Professor Frink, always in the lab

Local Gus Fring frying up the crack in an air fryer

Do or die, dye your do purple blue like an octogenarian’s mop

So generous with stocks had to shut up shop, Octopus allotment

Eight beggars around me, eight tentacles dispensing coffers

Traitors reporting to coppers, recording the convos.