Hunting those freaky deaks
And drinking a bottle of beer
In Fed suits and army uniforms
It's about to get crazy up here
Poison's blasting on the stereo
Got broken EMF and fake badges
With Mr. Fizzles in one hand
He's here to win this, no less
Jenny Greentree, burnt bones
Japanese booze monster, gone
Sam and Dean cashing chips
And when it's done, "what'd I miss?"
Awesome, quirky, still badass
Got his research all up to pass
Maybe at first, he's a weirdo, true
But don't worry, he'll grow on you
Monsters and hunters, step aside
'Cause he won't stop once he starts
And before you even know it
Boom, you've been Garthed.
YOU ARE READING
To My Wayward Sons (Supernatural Poetry)
PoetrySupernatural poems that I write when all the: -massive emotional damage -overwhelming crack -severe obsession -rare inspiration -demon possessing me is too much to handle. 50% feels, 50% crack, 100% trash. Abandon all hope, ye who enter here! ××× ...
