Christmas Eve…

Yeah, it’s Christmas Eve,

And I have to say,

I really do believe,

That I am high,

On you know what,
Hey, don't leave,

Till you have read,

What I perceive,

To ultimately be,

Something of interest,

Although I cannot remember,
What it was I wanted you to,
               receive...

I could be on rye,

But then again why,

Would I use booze,

When I could just as easily,

Make myself take a snooze,

With a certain herb.

This herb does the job better,

Maybe, while sitting here,

I should write a letter,

To the newspaper editor,

Just to explain,

What is most plain,

And in front of my face,

As we all know what is that case,

And what we do with as much of a trace,

Of that special herb,

That is used to get me shit-faced.

 So tonight, as always,

I leave my car by the curb,

Cause when I smoke that herb,

My abilities to drive become,

Most certainly & fearfully disturbed.

Yes, I write this when I am high,

As only then can I attain,

The state of mind,

As to be able to write without precision,

About this special night that we all,

As kids, looked forward to,

But as an adult, with no family, to speak of,

I am better off getting a buzz,

As I am, as always, just so much navel fuzz…

                                                                             (ed)