The Trenbolone Ballad

There once was a lifter who wanted more size,
With veins on his arms and fire in his eyes.
Then somebody whispered, “Bro, Tren is supreme—”
Soon he was stronger, much harder, and lean.

His weights started climbing, his body fat fell,
He flexed in the mirror and thought, “Damn, I look well!”
But Tren brought some extras he hadn’t foreseen:
No sleep, soaking sheets—and a jealous streak mean.

His girlfriend said, “Honey, you’re acting intense.”

He yelled, “WHO’S HONEY?! THAT DOESN’T MAKE SENSE!”

“Why’d you like his picture? Who’s texting you, Jen?”
She sighed, “That’s my brother.”

He whispered, “…again?”

Then cardio came—and things weren’t so blessed:
He could deadlift a Buick, but stairs were a test.
His hairline retreated, his blood pressure rose,
And Tren cough arrived just to keep him on his toes.

Still bigger and stronger, impressively lean,
He stood there admiring his bodybuilding dream.

More muscle, more strength, more veins to display—
Less hair, less sleep…
and “Who texted you, babe?”