Ventolin Inhaler Or Christ

For more than forty years my pistol And - trust - me - in the dark like a pistol, Sadly competing with my loved Christ, Mostly after quaffed Stout cruelly iced! Years back wore the look of Machine gun, When it stopped ripe deaths from crazy fun: The times I’d dared wrestle with Rothmans Also with Menthols raunchy romance; Once in my bag wouldn’t feel luckless As it kept licensing The Reckless The Asthmatic: An Idol Worshipper My Dream Business: Inhaler’s Shipper. Till date smuggles it into a church Christ’s priests won’t see it, unless they search. If my mum were alive, she’d slap me; Would it – I know - reserve like Hot Tea