There's a doobie in my pocket
As I'm standing in line to
And I'm trying to decide if
But the line is really long
And I start thinking about this song
And about the hippie at the festival
That is in my pocket in my shirt
That I'm planning on checking
Which is another festival
With hippies and more doobies
the one that is in the pocket
of my shirt in my suitcase
And I wonder if they'll find it
And I wonder what they'll do
They could put it in their pocket
Or maybe they're disgruntled
And just spark it where they stand
(cough. chough... chough)
Or maybe they will give it to
their friend Steve the Cop
Who will put it in his pocket
An d give it to the Rasta
Who works at the Starbucks
In hoping of continuning of receiving
His free triple tall americana shots on top
That he desperately needs
so that he can walk his miles
With his female German Shepard
For the David Langley song
or at least the song that Langley does
If David Langley wrote it
Steve the Cop he likes it
Or maybe he will simply throw
To avoid all the pa perwork
And this is what is going through my brain
and walk to baggage claim
and pray for a key change
but the suitcase never came
as I pace around with visions
And they got it just in time
Put it on the next flight
I should be seeing it the next day
But once again it never came
And once again I go insane
And like an hour to the show
That I did not leave in time for
'cus it's my turn on the stage
The sharp pain behind my eye
And I have to stop and smile
Because I suddenly realize...
That I'm wearing the shirt
With the doobie in my pocket
I was never in my suitcase
I was wearing it the whole time
