Here I sit in the mornin light,
smokin a j and feelin right,
wonderin if its rolled to tight,
cause it wants to just fight.
My trusty bong is at my side,
in its bowl the j will hide,
the cool smoke will just slide,
and make my eyes look fried.
Out of the house I must flee,
with a fat sack for you to see,
soon you will smile with glee,
hittin that doobie with me.
