Perfectville

You needn't look further than any ol' street corner

For all your candy and your cigarette needs.

Amazed, you exclaim to the cashier,

"I can't believe you're open on a day like today,"

To which the cashier ignores the ignorantly innocent statement.

"Need Marlboro Lights in a box? Sure! It's no problem!"

They're happy to get you a box,

Take your $2.88, and see you walk away.

Then, you go to the pharmacy to pick up your prescription.

"Albuterol, sir?" the pharmacist asks,

And you bitch about the insurance increasing your co-pay.

You pay, after which the pharmacist advises you not to smoke.

Then, it's a sanctifying, "Fuck you, you God damn crooks!"

And you walk away, hacking and wheezing.

Yet, it's a ciggy that you desire, that feeling gnawling away at you,

So you continue to stroll along, light up a "cancer stick,"

And head toward the exit when a young, jovial employee bids you farewell.

Grumbling something incomprehensible, you walk out

Into the cold, bristly winter air, hearing jingle bells,

And how you can hear them is beyond me with that cough.

Did they serve you well with their wonderful methods of service?

Should you submit a survey of the drug store's customer service?

Somehow, I really don't think it matters much to the employees,

For after all, it's just another December 25th at Perfectville.