The plaid shirt I've buttoned on,
Swiftly wrinkled, tags still on
I didn't pay a single cent
For this damn shirt, I did prevent
Myself from being good for once
To buy it, broke my money's trust
This wallet's worth was at no stand,
I'd sell that shit to steal some pants
To match up with my shitty shirt,
I'd use my cash for greens to burn,
But weed seems slightly weak these days,
Some oxy's better come my way,
Or ketamine, that shit's obscene,
But god it's worth the things I've seen,
The room waves 'round and building blocks,
The weatherman and garbage trucks,
The wild smoke in cigarettes,
The smokey breaths are at their best,
And crack-cocaine, it ain't devine,
But on those days, your feeling fine,
Smoking out a rotting can,
Snorting down some Ambiens,
Cause on the walls, the magazines,
They speak and scold, they rip your dreams,
Their heads that shake and point at you,
You scream, you cry, scream "that's not true!"
It's true, my dear, it's true in fact,
Your mind's been smashed, it's not the crack,
Check out your eyes, they're bloodshot red,
Now, smoke some more, because you can.
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