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May 2015
I owned a funeral parlor and I earned a lot of bread.
I got paid a whole lot of money to cremate the dead.
Each cadaver that I got rid of earned me five hundred grand.
I cremated ****** victims and for years I was in high demand.
OJ wanted to hire me.
But he didn't like the million dollar fee.
I always got repeat business from the Mob.
I fried those corpses when I turned the ****.
You'd better believe that when I cremated a body, it was much hotter than a sauna.
I'm extremely surprised that nobody ever wound up hiring me to cremate Madonna.
When I got through burning a corpse, there was never even a trace of evidence.
But the Police broke down my door as I was frying somebody and it was intense.
After being sentenced to fifty years in prison, people nicknamed me 'The Baker'.
If you need to get rid of a corpse, you'll have to call another crooked undertaker.
This is a fictional poem.
Randy Johnson
Written by
Randy Johnson  Tennessee
(Tennessee)   
953
   Emma S
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