Sticky and damp reeking like a forest of pure weed,
That alone is the bag in your hand,
Turning away from the dealer everyone in smiles,
Moving to the park, cover in the shadow of pine trees.
A huge debate on which method would be finest,
A pinner for all four, never having to pass,
Maybe a peach blunt crushed hash between the green,
Well settle on a two zig zaged cannon,
Nothing complements the warm summer day,
Better then a monster truck, then glass pipes to kill the session.
