The Pusher

Yes Sir, No Sir, two bags full.
Who'd dealt the girls and made them fall
From hill returned the guilty pusher,
Jack's crown wearing, pockets flusher.

Porge then went out on the pull
His customers all feeling ill
Some fertile fresh new soil to fill
So propagating nature's pill.

A medic's herb that grown from seed
And used by some in time of need
Will mild relief when took instill
Once taken hence now needing still

If planted spreads like rabbit litter
Profit sweet, it's flavour bitter
Relaxes body, calms the head,
George prefers a beer instead.