At the stroke of hour four twenty, oh what a time,
The cannabis lovers all gather in rhyme.
With bongs held high and joints rolled tight,
They laugh and they chat, what a glorious sight!
With snacks piled high, a feast to behold,
Chips and dip flow, their sacrifices of gold.
“Don’t touch my nachos!” a brave one will shout,
For the munchies are fierce, there’s no shadow of doubt.
The clock strikes the hour, a ritual begun,
They light up the herb, and the giggles run.
“Who passed the loud?” one friend will implore,
As they puff, puff, pass, oh what joy to explore!
Now the theories emerge, with laughter they spin,
“Do fish get high?” or “What’s life like in a tin?”
While deep thoughts abound, confusion takes flight,
“Did we just solve hunger, or was that last bite?”
With each passing minute, their wits fade away,
“Hey, what’s the time?” “Um, isn’t it play?”
The hours drift slowly, like clouds in the sky,
As attempts to stay focused just gently say bye.
At the end of the hour, the circle grows dim,
With laughter and snacks, they know who’s to win.
“Let’s do this again!” they proclaim with great cheer,
Until next 4:20, let’s all persevere!
Hazy Humor is licensed under CC BY-SA 4.0
