Lyrics:

I want to live by something that says sleep is not the means of an end (such that a mass majority seems to agree that the end of our day is usually decided upon with sleep), as much as it is Springtime again. Doesn't make much sense I know, but there's room to grow, reasons (drugs) to sprout (read on, brutha!); what Springtime to me, is about. It's love.

Fuck man, I wish I was a little bit higher, I wish I was a buyer, I wish I had some cash, if I did then I'd be higher. Shit, and this rabbit in a hat with a bat is just six foot higher... than ME! Fuck, and with a fucked out soul like he's Abdul-awh, master of the jed-ny fuckin' jack-offs who think they can turn muther-fuckin' rock solid minds into a big circle jerk of happy-go-lucky masterminds who don't give a shit about a Villainous government (who don't give a shit about shit), I'd be like, "shit man, you want magicians to overthrow the world, yo. Do you know the bullshit that goes on in magic? Do you know what fuckin' brutha Abdul-awh, what Mr. Hussein could do with a fuckin' bomb that's been worked on by a wizard? It's a good fucking thing there's no such thing!" Zing zing (my final comment, BOOYEAH!!) Now who's got a fuckin' bowl for me? (Ross leaves Stage Left for a mother fuckin' smoke.)

Alright, now that Ross's soul has been passed on to the devil (a.k.a., weed and other illegal substances disapproved by the Abdulah-hated government "tonight"), it's time for the thoughts of "misinterpreted vibes to be expressed through a mindless, interextrapolated detour from a relaxing dah-dah-dah-dah-dah-induced daydream." (what that means is just being really overall fucked up and chilled out!!) --> ((This thought to be continued when hightened electron-powered nodes in the brain are once again nulled to the point where The Prairies actually feel like they're growing over the Eiffel Tower in my mind that makes me feel like I'm actually where I imagine myself to be (like the Paris of the Prairies, for this example); ultimately back home in Kingston (props to Milgard influencing Das Hips). People must have died to no fault of his own, though it never really crossed my mind to presently think how inevitable death is, like taxes (or taxes that ultimately lead to death when someone trips out (we'd like to hope), though heavily, and takes it out on someone else). Maybe underneath everything, perhaps that cab driver was pissed off at taxes, and "accidently" killed that guy on the street who would only have said "take me as far as $5 will go." What people will do for money has always made me want to experiment with flying, or just smoke weed and listen to Neil or some other kind of trippy music. At least that in turn almost always leads to tranquility, and that's why Abdul-awh needs to chill out and put "my" mind to rest... the powers that be, now you and me. True love conquers all. This whole dick-fear theory of George Carlin's could ultimately come to crashing halt if people just accepted sex for what it is... pleasure (read on). Tension would be relieved in the world if people just accepted rape, or flying to Singapore to get perverted underage sex from teenie less-physical and unpassionate lolas. All I'd have to say is, "Mass." (hey, a hole's a hole!) But don't go to mass afterwards, cuz that would defeat the purpose. That's what we were founded on, but since this psyentific breakthrough of "intelligence", the medeival acceptance of an everpowerful being who watches over our every single move in a world where even utopia was altered to incorporate shadows cast by the "things that got away", has pretty much become an impaired "Jesus-box-dropping" hooplah, which likely did cause a big guffaw from the world anyways; and for a split second, we were a single silly mind... (or were we "serious"?) The Little Things (or Minds), there's nothing greater: smoke bowls, chill out, get small, get laid. There's your answer to world peace, the Paris of the Prairies wherever that may be for "you". *the quotes around 'tonight' represent only the collected assumption that weed and shrooms are an act of anti-corporate ignorance and stupidiity which in turn is thus generally accepted among the general public of such a "Villainous government." (I could get my picture on the cover of the Rolling Stone for this!) Hey, you know what's really fucked up? Being extremely fucked up on drugs and having your foot or entire leg fall asleep... man, those pins and fucking needles are busting out the Gladiator moves straight from the mother fucking script (Ozzy style)!! Tearing them right out and just tearing right into my fucking leg!! It's like I'm really there... "Oi Max(imus), they bloody well fucking got me!" Fucking Germans (sorry Thomas!) a-hyuck!).

Neil, "everpowerful overlord who witholds the potential solution to colonizing a surpa-orbital elite of fucked up, intensively simplified minds" for president.