Sunday, May 31, 2009

how high i b

how high i b,
how high 2 c.

how how i go thee,
but how to go three?

the b-a-d kills me with ryming diver-city,
but blunt a day never seems to rest for me.

i hear it like a pigeon,
churping constantly.

the echo in my minds eyes,
for that times i let them fly bys.

i hear the ticking of the clocks arms,
but never nearing of the locks alarms.

i need to burn a phatty down,
so i can lean on a big blunt now.

to burn it down till it touches the ground,
and spin it round and round and around.

i will let it go down to the pound,
and be put to sleep in the ground.

time for rest y'all can't get it,
time to be closin my eyes like fallin' asleep.

b/c i am so high, so high i can not see,
i can not see the adversity of diversity of egonostically biochemically narcolepetically society of the times unlying belly of democracy the hypocracy of ludiocracy, oh man, i really can't c.

b/c i'm really fuckin stoned you know,
can't ya'll c the tree going puff-puff and then i say he-he-he?

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