When the clock strikes four-twenty, oh what a sight,
A gathering of puffers, delighting in light.
From bongs and pipes to papers galore,
The sacred weed rituals, who could want more?
First, the ritual dance, in a circle we sway,
With giggles and munchies, it’s the stoner ballet.
“Oh, pass theGood vibes, don’t let them run dry!”
And there’s always that one who forgets to reply.
Next comes the snack fest, an edible spree,
Brownies and cookies, oh let there be glee!
“Did I eat that whole bag? My, how time flies!”
Only to find out, it was just full of fries.
Now to the couch, a throne of pure bliss,
Where deep thoughts arise from a simple wish.
“What if cats ruled the world? Would they play a game?
And not just sit around, demanding a name?”
At four-twenty they say, the world’s wisdom flows,
But instead, we debate if gnomes wear fine clothes.
And as hours tick by, we can’t help but cheer,
For tomorrow at four-twenty, we’ll do it right here!
Hazy Humor is licensed under CC BY-SA 4.0
