U free me up when I get to caught up in the race
That warm feeling sought by so many,
To smell your flower could cost my freedom
But that scent is worth the time.
I love to pluck your lems
The way your hairs stick to my fingers lets me no you
Come from strong stock
Your taste changes, all depending on the your culture,
You suffocate my mania
letting me take time to make what is bent straight
My truth serum
Speaking in Sanskrit the Hindus and Buddhist
named you marihuana, or ganja,
On the west coast We call it Cali Dro,White Widow, Northern Lights, Purple Power, Afghan,Razzleberry,
Them I’s in a JAh like to call you Lams Bread.
What ever the name INI love to take it to the head.
Them bald heads over stand the truth INI smoke the natural,
and they smoke the death,
legalize cigarettes and all them pills,
passing bill on capital hill.
Weed prohibitions,
got most of the good tree cultivators locked up
or running for the hills.
They lacing the weed with meth, pcp
all them thing designed to kill.
Rope, cloth ,lumber ect, all come from this lovely tree, in the
industrial revolution, with this global warming the hemp could save this earth.
A little earth, a little time, got to make it grow,
Little seed, put in the soil, could make more energy then
Your blood stained oil.
My bad I am just going on and on I guess this Ak47 is really strong.
I love to pluck your lems
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