While You’ve Got Your Three Hots and a Cot

Believe Me, I Hope You Rot

There came a time you had to go

You were into bad things, I didn’t know

You had turned into an unreasonable punk

One morning, I pulled you off the couch drunk

Told you to pack your stuff and leave

I was definitely in need of a reprieve

You lived in your car the next few days

Until the police decided to end your ways

Not only an arrest warrant was deserved

But divorce papers were also served

You, I wish I could have shot

Off to jail you went and I got

Everything we had ever had

Mostly stuff needing payments bad

A son to raise, without child support

All of your bills you did abort

So I struggle through each day

Trying to devise a way to pay

While you’ve got your three hots and a cot

Believe me, I hope you rot