Welcome to my castle,
made of groceries and stone.
The workers never hassle,
Here in my home.
Down aisle number four,
You can find sweets galore.
And three lanes down, in row seven,
Are my peasant’s melons.
And I sleep on king sized carpets,
That you find behind the market.
And I drink whiskey and scotch
When I roam the parking lot.
And no, my life’s not botched,
To be a king is highly sought.
As I’m the king of the drifters,
The highest shoplifter.
