In the days of old and nights were bold and toilets wern't invented, you left your load beside the road and walked away contented. Now down a hill to take a pill and smoke a righteous bud, the pill was paste the bud was laced and soon you started coughing blood. Saw it cried, later died and was buried in a hole. Took his stash of pot and hash and was buried with his bowl. Now down in hell where satin dwells and things get mighty hot, the devil said to bad your dead and can't enjoy your pot. So he packed and smashed an ounce of hash and put it in your tiny little pipe, he smoked your dope in one great toke and soon his eyes got bright. Yes my friend it's true you really got me stoned so for in return you shall not burn instead I'll send you home.
This poem was wrote by my brother and his friends and myself.
