From the poppy fields of Afghanistan,
To the mean streets of lower Manhattan.
In the sweatshops it’s cut and weighed,
To city streets it’s shipped everyday.

In the living rooms of the skin poppers,
To the main liners of the cities proper.
The disease is here, the plague of our time,
A drug that kills, both body and mind.

The dealers push and the junkies crave,
We try to stop it but so few are saved.
Nixon waged war and so did Reagan,
But even today the battle still rages.

While the DEA and the FBI are on the take,
The junkies and prostitutes are on the make.
People everywhere are dropping like flies,
And the clinics don’t care if somebody dies.

They say “quit” you’ll feel better everyday,
And hey don’t forget there’s always N.A.
But the shakes and the sweats just won’t quit,
(Not to mention the constant bathroom trips.)

So now I’m trapped here forever in hell,
Praying to God that tomorrow I’ll finally be well.
I go off to the corner to cop some more dope,
(Hey what the hell I should just buy some rope.)

My best friend was the same and now he’s dead,
And his memory just won’t leave my head.
His face like a picture is still fresh in my mind,
I thought he’d be here for a very long time.

The monkey on my back is whispering in my ear,
Telling me to relax that I have nothing to fear.
I put the spike in my arm thinking that he’s right,
I’ve just overdosed unknowingly ending my life!