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Puff and Stuff
He puffed the magic dragon
Till he was ninety-three
And frolicked in a smoky mist
Beneath the ganja tree
With little pipes and papers
He loved to huff and puff
It made him think such silly things
And munch a bunch of stuff
All red-eyed he would travel
With puff deep in his pouch
To blaze a trail thru rain or hail
Or tatered on the couch
But then one day of sorrow
He could find no puff no more
And from then till the morrow
Was jonesing on the floor
Without his lifelong friend
He died lonely in his cave
Tho everyone that knew him
Laid sticky hops on his grave
Now he puffs the magic dragon
Above both you and me
And frolics in a smoky mist
Beneath the ganja tree
Copyright ©
Randy Freie
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