As a salute to the voters in Colorado and Washington state, I have morphed yet another ditty to my growing collection, The Elderly American Songbook.
The seed for this one is Bobby Vinton’s 1975 recording of Beer Barrel Polka.
In a garden, closet garden, only leaves and big buds grow there;
And there’s scarcely any room there or a whisper of dark doom there.
Here is music, loads of laughter, toking happily e’er after.
When we pass around a fat one, we all get in the mood.
Every time that grass cloud starts to bloom.
We all feel the sweet smoke fill the room.
Then we throw all cares into the pot,
Feelin’ fine with what we’ve got.
When the munchies hit we hardly care.
Grab a bag o’ chips we all can share.
Or we’ll make a Stoned Soup pie
With whatever we find nigh.
Roll up a doobie, we’ll have a doobie-doo high.
Roll up a doobie, we’ll put the blue in the sky.
Who‘s up for nachos? Let’s make a run to Taco Bell.
Now’s the time to roll up a doobie, and pass the pipe as well.
Here’s to tokin’, we’re not jokin’, though our Golden Years be broken.
There’s no hurry; what, us worry? For the voters now have spoken.
Colorado, in the Northwest, where the finest herbals grow best.
Fire our bowls up without protest, and just blow all cares away.
When that old “Black Water” starts to flow
Through that place in which all dreamers grow.
Just kick back and light a fire;
Into the haze let us retire.
Roll up a doobie, we’ll have a mellow good time!
Roll up a doobie, tokin’s no longer a crime!
So what if it’s taxed now? Give Uncle Sammy his cut!
Everybody roll up a dobie, and smoke us out of this rut!