An Ode to Montana, Part 2

(An Ode to Montana, Part 1)

Hey, Montana, what the hell was that about?
I wrote you a sweet poem, and what do I get?
You stole my wallet and left me
For Alabama, one of the worst states ever,
And I'm pretty sure he's got VD.
Did I ever hit you or treat you wrong?
I don't think so, but there was that one time
That you caught me smoking pot with Rhode Island,
But what was the problem with that?
You didn't need to make a big deal out of it.
Maybe I never loved like you needed,
And since I don't really know anything about you,
I'd say you're probably right, even though
You'll never find anyone else who likes you.
Not like I care about you anymore, Montana,
Or like I even cared about you to begin with.
Sometimes I came home and didn't even recognize you.
It still pisses me off, though, I guess,
In a way similar to my distaste for cold syrup:
It doesn't ruin my pancake, but it won't do much for it.
So I decided to start over in a new place,
One that rings slighlty less hollow in memory.
It's Michigan, which is still mostly boring,
But it's sports teams have won championships,
And that's better than anything you've ever done,
Montana, you fat slut.