In a haze where time stands still,
The clock strikes four, we feel the thrill,
Gathered 'round in a smoky sea,
With bongs and bowls, it’s time for glee.
At 4:19, we get our gear,
With snacks in hand, we draw so near,
Panic sets in, we frantically race,
To roll the best, a green embrace.
The friend who’s late, he's always slack,
He strolls in slow, with chips to snack,
As seconds tick, the tension grows,
“Where’s the lighter?” comes the woes.
At 4:20 sharp, we raise our toasts,
To calming greens, the host of hosts,
A puff, a pass, the ritual’s begun,
With laughter echoing, we find our fun.
But then to our shock, we sense a wave,
A mystic aura, we hope to save,
The pizza rolls cry, “Just one more hit!”
Yet fingers are sticky, and we can’t commit.
With munchies fierce and songs to sing,
We embrace the fuzz that pot can bring,
At 4:20’s peak, we may lose track,
But in this moment, we’ve got each other’s back.
So here’s to the time that we adore,
When friendship blends with a herb galore,
We’ll laugh and toke ‘til the day is done,
For every 4:20, we know we're the lucky ones!
Hazy Humor is licensed under CC BY-SA 4.0
