To the tune of “Sing a song of sixpence”

Frolic, Free State fringies!
Pocket lighters spark.
Four-and-twenty tokers
Puffing in the park.

I’m through submitting to
    Fools unfitting to
        Teach. I’m quitting to-
            Day.

That’s it! I’m making e—
    Scape, partaking a
        Bit and breaking a—
            Way.

To the tune of “867-5309 (Jenny)” by Tommy Tutone

John Doe, John Doe, they pretend that’s you.
You do a duty no one much wants to.
On trumped-up charges behind prison bars,
All for confronting Manchester hussars.

In response to the arrest in Manchester for an activist brushing against a police officer
Sung in a mincing, childish voice, more or less to “Oh, dear, what can the matter be?”

Oooh! Oooh! I’ve been assaulted!
Bad boy! That man is faulted!
He… touched… the Prrresence Exalted!
Somebody save me from him!

No melody—feel free to write your own!

Your modern marijuana Puritan
Isn’t in a mindset where he can
Be expected to endure it in
Silence, like a good American.

To the tune of “Pleasant Valley Sunday”

We’ve got a hookah, six glass pipes,
   Eight joints, and someone’s two-foot bong.
Whoever said these celebrations wouldn’t last sure got it wrong.
Another Keene 420 smoke-in.
   Something burning—smells like rope.
The cop drives by and flips his visor up,
   Because last bust, he was the dope…

To the tune of “Five o’clock world” by the Vogues

Slam shut the textbooks when the schoolday ends,
I rush to make the Commons to be with my friends.
All day pretending I’m spaghetti-spined—
Got to scrub that shit out of my mind.

To the tune of “Every day” by Buddy Holly

Every day
  Gather at 4:20,
Central Square—
  Share in the plenty!
Prove to all the world
  That the system’s broke.
      Smoke,
        Smoke, smoke.