The Ballad of Miss Mary Jane
To the tune of “The Ballad of John Barleycorn”
There were three men came out to the West
Their fortunes for to find
And these three men made a solemn vow:
That Mary Jane must die!
They harrowed, they plowed, they planted her in
Threw clods upon her head;
And these three men made a solemn oath:
That Mary Jane was dead!
They let her lie for a very long time
‘Til the rains from Heaven did fall
And then Lady Jane sprung up her head
And so did amaze them all.
They let her stand ‘til mid-summer day
And she looked both bushy and frayed;
And then Lady Jane grew a thick, thick bud
And so become a maid.
They’ve hired men with the scythes so sharp
To chop her down to die
They tied her and bound her upside-down
And left her there to dry
They’ve hired men with the scissors sharp
To cut her leaf from shell
And the smokers, they served her worst of all
For they cast her into Hell!
And that was the death of Miss Mary Jane
Yet she lived to tell the joke;
For they sealed her inside of a ziplock bag
And they called her seedless smoke.
And little Miss Jane and the nut-brown bowl
And the pipe filled full of grass
And little Miss Jane and the nut-brown bowl
Proved the strongest maid at last.
For the truckers will not haul that load
Nor the rockers sing like they’re insane
Nor the hackers write a line of code
Without a little Mary Jane.
No comments:
Post a Comment