When friends get baked, their minds do race,
They pen their thoughts, profound and strange,
In rhymes and verses, they lose their place.
With bags of chips and bowls to chase,
They ponder life, the world, and change,
When friends get baked, their minds do race.
Each line a journey, a wild embrace,
Of cats who dance or clouds that arrange,
In rhymes and verses, they lose their place.
“Is the moon made of cheese?” “Or a smiling face?”
They giggle hard, then shift the range,
When friends get baked, their minds do race.
One dreams of fame, a poetic base,
While critiquing sonnets, completely deranged,
In rhymes and verses, they lose their place.
As laughter fades, they find their grace,
With stoned expressions, they rearrange,
When friends get baked, their minds do race,
In rhymes and verses, they lose their place.
Hazy Humor is licensed under CC BY-SA 4.0
