California Toking

Like, many of us waited all our life,
To smoke a joint at Market Street and Pine,
What cops will do, the speculation’s rife.
Like, man—you got some brownies?—it’s divine!

The State of California’s all but said,
If marijuana makes you feel okay . . .
Where was I? Oh yes. No more cause for dread
Of narcs who think you're plain—what rhymes?—risqué?

Gov Schwarzie’s signed the bill that makes an ounce,
In (yeah, sure) private, subject to a fine.
Decriminali . . . Too hard to prounounce.
I say again, though, isn’t it divine?

If someone wears a lab coat and can spell . . .
Let's see if I am able: “c-a-n-n-a-b-i-s.”
Two n's I'm almost certain, what the hell,
A wonder drug that guarantees your bliss.

And now we got a chance to legalize
That ounce I just was trying to talk about
Instead of merely de . . . crim. . . in . . al . . . ize,
With Preposition 19. Pray for rout!

And now I'd like to try and cross the street.
The light for me is such a stunning red.
The driver of that beer truck's trying to cheat
And run the green light. Whoops, he wants me dead.

Jeez, that was close. I shouldn't be outdoors,
I ought to be at work, for times are tough.
My boss said, though—no kidding—he abhors
My giggling, never knowing when's enough.

That's why I'm on the street—what street is this?
"Relieved” he said I am, which makes me think:
Will cops object if I decide to piss?
"Relieved?" You get it, friend? You want a drink?