420 (poem)

A biological process
No longer sensationalised --
Wait -- what year is this?
It still hasn't been legalised?

'They' haven't come to their senses?
(Can't they open their minds, for once?)
With such ease they could restore their expenses --
Everyone knows
                            Marijuana smells like money.

Criminals know it.
                                The black market
Is the wrong place for the right drug --
It releases stress, you simply spark it
(Once you chop up the nug.)

There's really nothing left to say. Out there,
Common sense is plenty:
Something magic starts to fills the air
Because the clock reads
                                        4:20.