From February 2001. We managed to acquire a 5-gallon water jug like you see in office water coolers, and figured it would be a good idea to build it into a bong with 2 bowls and a 6' hose.
Then, I thought it would be a good idea to write a song about it. You probably had to be there.
lyrics
I can barely see your face through the smoke in the air
Swirling shaft of sun strikes the strands of your hair
Glassy eyes hover like a flight of stares
You're not fully baked when your middle's rare
You're not fully down when you're halfway down
I can still see your face so we're not quite there
You can pack it again while I pack in the spare
Donor lips on hose 'til nobody dares
Nights when "holy smokes" becomes its own prayer
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