On the midnight outskirts of New Orleans our dome light is dead for we are stealthy / buoyant / nimble / wispy. Pablo slip slides into this old 56 Merc, hands me a bag of weed, stinking sweet Mexican ride-a-rocket weed. Put it away for now, this bag of dreams
This Freedom Will Not Go Up In Smoke
This Freedom Will Not Go Up In Smoke
This Freedom Will Not Go Up In Smoke
On the midnight outskirts of New Orleans our dome light is dead for we are stealthy / buoyant / nimble / wispy. Pablo slip slides into this old 56 Merc, hands me a bag of weed, stinking sweet Mexican ride-a-rocket weed. Put it away for now, this bag of dreams