Smoked to the bone
Oh, yes, I have been there.
Killing every brain cell I owned.
And I didn’t much care.
Sometimes I ran out, and so
I sifted sticks and stones.
Or got some from friends, you know
And got myself smoked to the bone.

I had to learn to roll them
Or deal with the teasing.
I finally got it right enough.
The stuff was always pleasing.
I never cared for pipes much
Or smoking from a bong.
But, I never turned it down.
You have to try to get along.

I got myself a Laredo machine
And made myself some smokes.
They looked just like Marlboros
And the cops never got the joke.
I would sit in the concerts
And you knew by the smell
Someone was smoking dope
But nobody could really tell.

I do like the brownies, though.
But things get away from me
And I get a big huge butt
Growing out the back of me.
So, I admit to my state
Of enjoying my smokes.
I prefer to stay stupid
And ignore any silly jokes.

Brent Kincaid

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