Let me count the ways.
From bong, bowl, joint, or blunt
I love your thick and smoky haze.
You make me laugh no matter why
My eyes are red, my mouth is dry.
I enjoy you in my house and car
You make me high, you take me far.
To me you for sure no stranger
Any nearby food's in danger.
For when I smell your sweet sweet scent
I don't mind that all my money's spent.
When what's left in my bg is total shake
I feel my wallet start to quake.
I know I'll buy you over and over
Stoned as hell, I'm in the clover.
I love the feeling of being trashed
And dread the words "This bowl is cashed."
Getting high makes me want to sing and carol
Although your seeds may make me sterile.
But I'll still smoke you, wrong or not
I live each day, I smoke my pot.
