Is today the day I finally wake up
And start accepting that my life
Is not just something that happens
But something that comes from strife?
Will I finally agree that ambition,
If it is not present inside of me,
Sets me on no forward path at all,
And instead leaves me in entropy.

Will I see for myself, that battle
Is always being waged between
Getting where I really need to go
And some fairy tale in a magazine?
Will I quit looking at friendship
As a search for a good joke?
Or I will finally stop letting my skirt
Be a place for people to blow smoke?

Will I stop finding excuses for sloth
And do the harder things to succeed?
Will I finally see that there are more
Than two motivations, hunger and greed?
Will I take care of my moral housekeeping
As well as I do my home and my car?
When someone mentions caracter traits
Will I even know what those things are?

Every day of life when I was younger
It was always so easy to kick back
And do nothing much of anything about
Those tenets of true adulthood I lack.
I preferred to lie around on my ****
And let other people do all the work
Then have another can of beer, laugh
And call them all just mindless jerks.

All that was fine for endless decades
Then recently I began to look up and see
That my life is a tale of no headway made.
There were four constant pals, one was me.
With dead-end jobs, and dressed the same,
Just as we did when we were tweens.
Here we were middle-aged do-littles
Smoking dope in old 501 jeans.

So, I’m changing directions as of today.
I’m buying some decent clothes to wear,
Shaving my lip beard off right now
And taking some time to fix my hair.
I want to look on the outside as if I were
Less I was something inside more than dust.
I’ll get a real job, save money and then
I know I’ll do more than sit around and rust.

I used to be an avid libertarian
Now I am a vocal egalitarian.
I see that Republicans are
Rehearsing to acclaim a Tsar,
Contemptuous of anything agrarian.

My peers are equally divided bubbleheads
Half of their brain cells completely dead.
Their parents taught them so little
That they are caught in the middle
They believe each word their crazy leader said.

The USA is not a pure democracy,
The only thing pure here is hypocrisy.
Voters sit on their hands
And applaud the brass bands
Saying, ”What else can anybody ask of me!”

My peers are equally divided bubbleheads
Half of their brain cells completely dead.
Their parents taught them so little
That they are caught in the middle
They believe each word their crazy leader said.

The USA is not a pure democracy,
The only thing pure here is hypocrisy.
Voters sit on their hands
And applaud the brass bands
Saying, ”What else can be asked of me!”

My peers are **** near useless bubbleheads.
On voting day, three quarters stayed in bed.
They play a dumb political game
Saying both sides are the same
And let our country drown in the watershed.

Some rail and rightly blame the establishment
As if they understood what that really meant;
They know the country’s out of hand
But somehow they don’t understand
The folks they voted in are to our detriment.

My peers are equally divided bubbleheads
Half of their brain cells completely dead.
Their parents taught them so little
That they are caught in the middle
They believe each word their crazy leader said.

A small single apartment
That is all I really need.
The result of low ambition
And a paucity of greed.
A kitchen for cooking
A comfy place to sleep
Just great for meditation for
Thoughts that don’t go deep.

It was close to my buddies
That good old gang of mine
I go there, they come here,
As long as there was wine.
I was serving jug wine
And vintage it was not.
I had to switch to *** when
My stomach started to rot.

I also served cheap beer,
The cheapest I could find.
Between the wine and beer
It’s lucky today I’m not blind.
And food was also frugal
Mostly chips and salsa hot.
Stoners aren’t that choosy.
Gourmands we were not.

Of course we all had our own
Personal marijuana stash.
Its quality depended on
The amount of available cash.
But one of us was a dealer
Or sometimes there were two.
They always brought a supply
To sell, that’s what they do.

We laughed and roared and
Someone always had a guitar
It is nineteen seventy two
And that’s how conditions are.
Some of us had jobs back then
But most were floating around.
It’s hard to be a stable soul
With no feet on the ground.