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Rated: 13+ · Poetry · Political · #1598490
This is a first draft so all criticism and suggestions welcome.
Street lamps, shine down to the curb side
Where we try, and we try to tick just one eighth more
Than we had last time, it’s technically crime
But I think the right should be mine
To mess with my mind and loose true perception of time
But no one else sees it that way, no one important anyway.

Come on
If it’s not doing any lasting harm to me
Then government should just back off and let me be
However, I’ll concede that the illegality
Gives it an almost romantic charm to me
Because, if it was all above-board once more
Like in the glory days of 1934, in the USA
(Or just a tiny bit before here in my UK)
I’ll admit it would be a bit more boring
Buying it in a chemists on a Monday morning.

At any rate, no matter which way you look at it
The kids of today can’t get enough of the good shit
After all, who wants to drink a glorified depressant?
When most of us are here in an endless recession
Whilst there’s a far superior, and by the way cheaper medicine
For the kids and the poor people to meddle in.

To most folks its Marijuana or Cannabis
Some Call it Ganja, deriving from Sanskrit
It encourages feelings of tranquil happiness
As opposed to Alcohol’s elated madness
And that’s why we stand on the curb in the rain
forcing our dealer to take tick once again
Because we our need money for pizza and fries
Whilst we’re criminalized for not drinking our highs
© Copyright 2009 Craig Johnson (cillianledry at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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