Fatmankev
Chef, Writer, and Midnight Toker
- Reaction score
- 240
Yikes, sorry if this poem goes off in every direction, I was just rollin' with it. Word up.
Green is green, but not always green,
You know if you've seen the things that I've seen.
Things not of this world, from a different place,
From somewhere far out in the depths of space.
But it made it here, against all odds,
Certainly the greatest gift of the Gods.
Something that a whole world could enjoy,
From each little girl, down to each little boy.
It can be used in many ways, for many things,
But there's only one way that makes your soul sing,
Light it on fire; don't worry, it's fine!
Even the smoke is mostly benign.
That's right, Cannabis, the magical weed,
Females fuck you and males spread seed,
From any mood, whether dour or mad,
This powerful herb will instead make you glad.
They come in all shapes and sizes,
all colors and types.
There are many ways to smoke them:
Bongs, joints and pipes.
Although it's called green, sometimes it's brown,
And when it's that color it does bring me down.
But it can be orange, purple and white,
And even colors that change in the light.
But sight's only one thing, and scent is another,
And let me tell you that scent is the mother.
Because ganja has thousands and thousands of smells,
Enough to stink even Lucifer out of Hell.
There're so many things that I want to say,
But I'll be the first to admit, I don't have all day.
Weed is something that everyone should love,
A cosmic gift, sent from above.
But the world we live in is not that sort of place,
Instead, you're shot in the face with mace.
Trust has left all of us in the dust,
And to salvage our race, reform we must.
But something like that is a long way away,
Perhaps it will grace us on some happy day.
But until then, we must strive to survive,
Because the most important thing is to stay alive.
So no matter where you're from, or where you stay,
Just go out there and live life that day,
But know that elsewhere, a war is being fought,
Against the magnificent drug, known as, 'Pot.'
Cultures collide, and rules become laws,
To keep this wonderful thing from us all.
Why can't we decide, what we do and don't do,
Why the fuck should I listen to you?
But that's when regret begins to kick in,
When you realize that law-breaking is sin.
Or rather, you learn that when you break the law,
You're fucked.
You know if you've seen the things that I've seen.
Things not of this world, from a different place,
From somewhere far out in the depths of space.
But it made it here, against all odds,
Certainly the greatest gift of the Gods.
Something that a whole world could enjoy,
From each little girl, down to each little boy.
It can be used in many ways, for many things,
But there's only one way that makes your soul sing,
Light it on fire; don't worry, it's fine!
Even the smoke is mostly benign.
That's right, Cannabis, the magical weed,
Females fuck you and males spread seed,
From any mood, whether dour or mad,
This powerful herb will instead make you glad.
They come in all shapes and sizes,
all colors and types.
There are many ways to smoke them:
Bongs, joints and pipes.
Although it's called green, sometimes it's brown,
And when it's that color it does bring me down.
But it can be orange, purple and white,
And even colors that change in the light.
But sight's only one thing, and scent is another,
And let me tell you that scent is the mother.
Because ganja has thousands and thousands of smells,
Enough to stink even Lucifer out of Hell.
There're so many things that I want to say,
But I'll be the first to admit, I don't have all day.
Weed is something that everyone should love,
A cosmic gift, sent from above.
But the world we live in is not that sort of place,
Instead, you're shot in the face with mace.
Trust has left all of us in the dust,
And to salvage our race, reform we must.
But something like that is a long way away,
Perhaps it will grace us on some happy day.
But until then, we must strive to survive,
Because the most important thing is to stay alive.
So no matter where you're from, or where you stay,
Just go out there and live life that day,
But know that elsewhere, a war is being fought,
Against the magnificent drug, known as, 'Pot.'
Cultures collide, and rules become laws,
To keep this wonderful thing from us all.
Why can't we decide, what we do and don't do,
Why the fuck should I listen to you?
But that's when regret begins to kick in,
When you realize that law-breaking is sin.
Or rather, you learn that when you break the law,
You're fucked.