Dirty streets and ugly faces
Mundane work, familiar places
You pay taxes, I smoke weed
It fills me, That's an up
You think your life is full of sense
(Keep your reasons in your pants)
You are dead, you’re not alive
Smoking’s waking up my mind

We are all as dead as a peace of rock.
It’s hard to explain to a thoughtless mob.
You are working hard bringing up your kids.
But inside you feel there is something missed.
Now you understand I bet
I’m the best of the dead

You would say I am a victim
Of my foggy thoughts and feelings
Don’t be scared, I have an answer
You are like a belly dancer
You have fixed by someone programs
(You have duties and responses)
But you are a slave of life
You are living to survive

You are judging my condition
Your lifestyle can cause suspicion
Your existence makes you suffer
You are not enjoying laughter
You don’t see blue skies above
(You approve yourself by love)
And in this quicksand you sink
Lost ability to think