Wacky Writing Ranger

I'm a wacky writing ranger,
living the life of a stranger.
Got my pen and my paper,
I write what I want,
doesn't matter size of font,
my warped mind will find a new caper.
Writing rhymes since I was forty,
no woman ever called me shorty.
Money, what the hell is that,
it's everyone else's wallets getting fat.
My mouth is dry, fingers are numb,
even with a talent, I'm still a lazy ***.
I *** big holes in my wall,
inside the house, I play too much ball.
I have eggs with my breakfast toast,
Jeffrey Ross, where is my comedy roast.
A life filled with agony,
writing keeps my sanity.
From New Jersey to Florida,
living with my woman named Laura.
Hundreds of hearts earn my name,
can't even count the one night stands,
listening to all my favorite 80's hair bands,
all the groupies are just the same.
I've worked and had a paying job,
Bob spelled backwards is still Bob.
Left Jersey so far behind,
for that Florida weather grind.
Writing is in my blood to stay,
I don't care about the lack of pay.
I'm a wacky writing ranger,
I live the life of a complete stranger.
Read this rhyme and follow it til the end,
Then maybe after you decide to die,
look down at all the people who will cry,
then maybe Edgar Allan Poe will be your friend.