Dirty streets and ugly faces Mundane work, familiar places You pay taxes, I smoke weed It fills me, That's an up You think your life is full of sense (Keep your reasons in your pants) You are dead, you’re not alive Smoking’s waking up my mind
We are all as dead as a peace of rock. It’s hard to explain to a thoughtless mob. You are working hard bringing up your kids. But inside you feel there is something missed. Now you understand I bet I’m the best of the dead
You would say I am a victim Of my foggy thoughts and feelings Don’t be scared, I have an answer You are like a belly dancer You have fixed by someone programs (You have duties and responses) But you are a slave of life You are living to survive
You are judging my condition Your lifestyle can cause suspicion Your existence makes you suffer You are not enjoying laughter You don’t see blue skies above (You approve yourself by love) And in this quicksand you sink Lost ability to think