Death he came a-callin’; he said, “My boy it’s time to go.”
I looked up from my bong hit and said, “Wait a minute, bro.”
“This weed I have is sticky green and stony as can be.”
“How about you cop a squat and smoke a bowl with me?”
Death he scratched his boney scalp and set aside his scythe.
“I suppose I could take a couple rips before I take your life.”
Now I was scared but played it cool and packed old Death a bowl.
“So,” I asked, “where am I going when you cut loose my soul?”
Death he grinned and flicked my Bic and took a deep breath in
And pointed through the floorboards down at the place of sin.
“Fuck it,” said I and we finished that bag, both stoned to the core,
Then Death pulled back his hood and asked, “What’d I come here for?”
I patted my roommate on the head, who’d passed out from drinking beer.
“I believe you said when you came in, you wanted Johnny here.”