Ask Me Again And Die

Pot stuff - A trash poem

20. I love marijuana, I love getting high. Its like gift to human kind by mother nature and I have a poem on it.

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Drunk face seasoned pale

Stains of last night's ale

I walked up; murky mood, dim

Out of a sudden whim

I felt like giving my day a striking flash

And coincidentally along came a trash

Curled up disheveled hairdo

And smoked up face

He talked all shit yet in a patent fashioned pace

We decided to do ourselves a little good time

Like two convicts

Getting clean from vintage crime

We hopped on his bike

He gives it a funky hike

Names it his crotch rocket

Like any random whore would scream for a pearl locket.

And we burnt our lungs; again rolled the pot

We found our solace spot.

Yo piece out motherfuckers.

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x The End x