Pocket of credit for some coward’s fun,
down through the streets we wearily run.
By shadows hid the deed is done,
all who chase are all outrun.
Worry not for the loaded gun,
for that who we seek is only one.
Robot riddles it speaks to stun,
the score is made, the game is won.
Pleasure aplenty in the new day’s sun,
an automated drug dealer for everyone.