I am the pot,

Not the kind that you roll,

The foundation that helps things grow.

I am the crack,

Not the kind you inhale,

But within the earth where rivers flow.

I am ecstasy,

Not the kind that can rape,

But a feeling of tranquil escape.

Wherefore did the words that once were good ever turn out bad?

The eyes do see what the eyes want to see,

A deliverance changed a tad.

Too many souls have devoured the words,

As harmful and destroying a belief,

That troubles those of yesterday,

And bestows upon them great grief,

Drugs are a unhealthy habit,

They change your life in a way,

Where the whole world is laying upon you,

And six feet under you lay.

I am myself,

The person who can decide,

Whether life’s what I want,

Or life is a haunt,

To which I should run from and hide.

I am my drug,

Not the kind you roll,

Stab yourself with,

Or inhale,

I am the drug,

That decides if my life,

Is a desire or living Hell.

I wish you luck,

Next time you take,

A drag of that there roach,

Remember the team,

Who lives your real dream,

And do not forget who is coach.