I almost successfully sang in congruence with the physical act of playing my bass yesterday.
Was during "Witch Hunt" (by Rush).
There is now a light at the end of that tunnel...
Speaking of tunnel-hunting witches...
I popped the closet open when the lights went on,
to check on my girl and see how she was doin',
when what to my freshly bloodshot eyes did appear?
'Twas a garland of silver shining bright like the moon.
Hanging from the scrog,
under Ralph, my attack frog,
were 20 glass bulbs
hanging down from the buds.
The wind from the fan
made them sway to and fro,
From the hempy can,
how she does grow.
In the light they did glitter,
casting glints of high light,
my weed is one-hitter,
One toke and good night.
Frosty as winter,
your mind it will splinter,
Rolling spliffs like yuletide logs,
Warming your heart like puppy dogs.
You're gonna feel my holiday flow,
it's like a riptide.
More chill than an eskimo,
a polypeptide....
...is just a chain of amino acids...
Talkin' 'bout reindeer,
and pullin' the sleigh,
flyin' through the air,
like they just don't care.
Red-nosed?
Ha!
Man, FUCK the color of his nose.
Ask Rudy why his eyes are so red.
It's my x-mas krunk,
muthafucka.
It ain't shwag or junk,
muthathrucka.
Uh.
You couldn't find your own ass if the universe were an ever-shrinking toroidal shape during the end stages of "The Big Crunch" and your hands were infinitely expanding in size at a rate of the speed of light cubed.
Muthajumpa.
Uh.
While MY garden flowers
and decks the halls,
YOUR growspace
is full dicks and balls,
My skillz,
are ever-expanding,
Like a universe
without an ending.
Your weed is like getting a lump of coal in your stocking.
My herb sends you into outerspace,
makes you try to quantize the sum total potential energies of dark matter
just like Stephen Hawking.
My herb is cosmic,
the highs are ultrasonic.
Turns grey matter into a black hole.
Makes Santa get couch-locked in his shop at the North Pole.
Elves can't wake his fat, sorry ass for nothing...
Shit...
Merry fuckin' Ho-ho Day.