It’s like I’m tasting flower all over again.
The skunk from bambi.
Your deepest thoughts that matter.
I’m in the tip of a circle
I suppose we should sell some devestation this season.
Has it been disproven?
We’re still getting data from your mines of info.
Sometimes the best rotational cycle
Is the last damn old shit corner of a warehouse
Where, if you clean and set a chair,
I would smoke herb to the newfound corners
And sit and view the entire world from a new position
If you think I’m stoning and slow,
It is proportionate to the value I just produced
But with bud so fucking illegal
It’s hard to be a buyer
In an anti-grow or spread
The new technologies that knew everything
Is this just another sad drunken moment
When every piece of my being
Was being crushed by the old ladies
Who thought the burning blessings
Were they’re worst curse
And it’s hard not to get angry
They’re more arguementative and combatative
Yet their ability is pretty pathetic,
I feel like rubbing blunts in their cunts
And this not a rationalized statement
Nor would I ever dare touch her…
My godawful mother mary.
Talk it out to yourself more
I can hear you stomping
All the way up the hall