Crack and Prayer

Disclaimer: Some might find the following poem offensive. I apologize in advance.

Five little Jahovas sitting in a row
Handing out pamphlets to all the peeps on po--
The smoked, the baked, recovered earthquake
Fiddle faith shakers fallen in cake

Five little Jahovas think they know the lore
If you believe, heaven is in store
If you don't believe hell is at your door
Gales of hail, pails of gore

The Jahovas, the crackheads craving that fix
Tumbleweed addicts burning prayer sticks
Belief over reason built on yellow bricks

Fantasy lane, borders on insane
Glazed eyeballs, mushroom brains

Floating in the sky, believing in the guy
Crack and prayer is the poor man's high.