I went to Golden Gate Park
What irie things I saw
Drum circles and unicycles
Hacky sacks and filthy hippies
I ran into a bro I know
With flip flops and dreads so natty
We went up to Hippy Hill to toke up on a fatty
He said his sack was empty
But for twenty we could get high
He said his dealer had ganja
All I could say was
“I, I, oh Selassie I.
Is dem herbs the chronic?
Sticky Endo Jamaican Gold”
He said, “I only puff dem bomb spliffs.”
So we went into the Upper Haight
Where someone was blasting Marley
It sounded good
And I felt proud
I knew every “oooh yea”
Anyway. There he sat
Totally holding some shake bags
They looked bad. I mean like da bush weed
Then I remembered my rude boy
He said, “you batty bumbaclot.
You said dems was Rasta nuggs.
Now we gaun have to hurt you.”
The dealer said, “I. I. oh I and I.
I guan give you good discount.
Take this kind dub for the price of a dime
Just ten bucks and you guan have it.”
Then informas showed up.