Twas the night before 4/20
And all through the pad,
Not a stoner was stirring,
Not even for a dab,
The stockings were hung on the jars with care,
in hopes that St. Nicholas would come and share.
The clones were nestled moist in their rockwool,
While visions of fractals danced wildly to Tool,
And mamma well lit, and me with my buds,
Had just smoked our brains silly with indica nugs.
When out on the street there arose quite a chatter,
I kept on rolling my blunt, even fatter and fatter,
Though through the walls I could hear a cheer,
‘We know you got some dank in here!’
Carols were heard on through the night,
About how they’d roll up something tight,
When, what do my wondering ears should hear,
But a miniature van, and my buddy Amir.
With a joint in hand, so massive and thick,
I knew in a moment it was gonna be sick.
More rapid than munchies the tokers they came,
And he whistled and shouted called out each strain name!
“On Dagga! now Daywrecker! now, Panama and Vanilla!
On Chemdawg! On Chronic! on, on Diesel and Silverback Gorilla!
There’s hash drizzling down the cherry — don’t let it fall!
Now toke away, toke away, toke away all!”
As the dry leaves burn the whole hood high,
Red hot hash nails are raised to the sky,
So down the line each they chief,
With bowls of green topped with kief.
And then in an instant I heard no sound,
When they finally realized what they had found,
With a smoke circle of this size,
They could easily legalize.
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