At precisely four-twenty, the clock strikes with glee,
A sacred ritual calls, just for you and for me.
Friends gather 'round with snacks piled high,
As we prepare for a trip to the great stoner sky.
First things first, the sacred selection,
We argue for hours about the right direction.
“Indica’s best!” shouts old Sally the Great,
While Mike waves his bong, “Sativa can’t wait!”
We light up the candles, we chant a good cheer,
While munching on chips and a half-eaten spear.
The smoke clouds our thoughts, it floats all around,
As we ponder the meaning of life, or—what’s that sound?
Oh no! It’s the doorbell! Have we lost all our grace?
It’s the delivery guy, that smile on his face.
He’s holding a package, with a wink in his eye,
“Sorry to bother you folks, but man, oh my!”
With pizza in hand, he joins the vibe’s flow,
We offer up slices as we let the smoke blow.
And just like that, a new friend was made,
At four-twenty’s glory, we’ve got it displayed!
So here’s to the rituals and hilarity shared,
To the laughter that echoes, while none are compared.
With a hoot, a puff, we ascend and we rise,
In the great 4:20 realm, where laughter never dies!
Hazy Humor is licensed under CC BY-SA 4.0
