| Lyrics |
We like to smoke pot. We like it a lot. Our small eyes are tearing for what we havenot. The nice pipe is here. A lighter is near. I won't become freaked out, fear not, sisterdear. We miss the blue sky. It is cold, we willcry. Our being mind is waning and we now know why. We want to feel warm, yet outside the norm. We want to be a cradle-held, and then to bereborn.
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