Mum has 15 drags on her cigarette.
The first drag, trying out for the first time,
the second drag, presenting friends into your relaxation.
The third drag, everything is calm,
the fourth drag, you realize it has to stop.
The fifth drag, small remarks become big irritations,
the sixth drag, you are disgusted because the remarks are true.
The seventh drag, just another one wouldn’t hurt,
the eighth drag, what’s the point of quitting now?
The ninth drag, your breath doesn’t smell quite the same,
the tenth drag, you hide underneath your coat.
The eleventh drag, you feel slowed down without,
the twelfth drag, yet your doctors say it’s better off without.
The thirteenth drag, you begin to wheeze,
the fourteenth drag, you collapse to the floor.
The fifteenth drag isn't really the final drag at all,
you’ll smoke a million cigarettes, more and more,
but it only seems to you as 15 more?
The fifteenth drag is finally taken,
Mum has lung disease, I am a failure.