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Doobie In My Pocket
Doobie
Doobie
I just remembered
There's a doobie in my pocket
In my shirt
In my suitcase
As I'm standing in line to check into my flight
And I'm trying to decide if I should get out of line
But the line is really long
And I start thinking about this song
And about the hippie at the festival
That gave me the doobie
That is in my pocket in my shirt
That's in my suitcase
That I'm planning on checking
to my final destination
Which is another festival
With hippies and more doobies
So I,
don't really need
the one that is in the pocket
of my shirt in my suitcase
And I wonder if they'll find it
And I wonder what they'll do
Depending on their mood
They could put it in their pocket
of their TSA shirt
Or maybe they're disgruntled
And just spark it where they stand (cough. chough... chough)
Or maybe they will give it to their friend Steve the Cop
Who will put it in his pocket
And give it to the Rasta
Who works at the Starbucks
At gate 39
In hoping of continuning of receiving
His free triple tall americana shots on top
That he desperately needs
the extra caffene
so that he can walk his miles and miles of luggage
With his female German Shepard
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That he named Eva Braun
For the David Langley song
or at least the song that Langley does
I'm not really sure
If David Langley wrote it
But one thing's is true
Steve the Cop he likes it
Or maybe he will simply throw the doobie in the trash
To avoid all the paperwork
Complete pain in the ass
And this is what is going through my brain
As I exit the plane
and walk to baggage claim
and pray for a key change
but the suitcase never came
and i start to go insane
as I pace around with visions of Guantanamo Bay
No need to drool, man
Everything is cool
They found my suitcase on the way to Istanbul
And they got it just in time
Put it on the next flight
Everything's ok
I should be seeing it the next day
But once again it never came
And once again I go insane
Because it's time to go
And like an hour to the show
Without any traffic
That I did not leave in time for
Now I've got road rage
'cus it's my turn on the stage
And I cannot deny
The sharp pain behind my eye
And I have to stop and smile
Because I suddenly realize...
That I'm wearing the shirt
With the doobie in my pocket
I was never in my suitcase
I was wearing it the whole time
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