New Children’s Prayer

newprayerfixHere’s a little tip on how to manifest peace magic. A lot of the best magic starts with the kids. A good example would be the children’s poem, “Hush-a-bye Baby,” which was a coded message for an uprising against King James I, who was suspected of smuggling a new born baby into his palace so he could pawn it off as his newly birthed offspring (when, in fact, he could bear no fruit). “The cradle will fall” was a reference to this child not being recognized as being of proper royal blood.

When I was a kid, we were taught a very strange poem to say every night before bed. In my usual fashion of improvisational ritual theater, I’ve changed the words a bit in order to place them more in line with my understanding of the sacred vibrations that run through all things.

I encourage parents to introduce this prayer to their kids as a means of dealing with some of the worst of the terror being manufactured today, some of which may even be created to condition us to accept a complete surrender of the Bill of Rights. I think this prayer is a positive step in the right direction and should be translated into every language and spread around the globe as quickly as possible.

Grind Your Buds

(To the tune of “Row Your Boat”)

Grind, grind, grind your buds

then pack ’em in your vape,

take a toke, there is no smoke,

life is really great.

 

Ghost Tokers in the Sky

(To the tune of “Ghost Riders in the Sky”)

A wake’n’ baker went walking one dark and windy day
He rested on a ridge, he passed along the way
A giant hookah came flyin’, o’r the hills above the town
He saw the smoke a comin’ and heard the strangest sound

hippie hi o, hippie hi a, it’s the ghost tokers in the sky

The buds had just been fired, and still looked nice and green
They dripped with oily resin, just like High Times magazine
His heart was stuck by fear as the hookah thundered by
‘Cause he saw the tokers comin’ and heard their mornful cry

hippie hi o, hippie hi a, it’s the ghost tokers in the sky

Their faces gaunt, their eyes all red, their shirts all soaked in sweat
They’re tryin’ hard to catch a buzz, but they ain’t caught one yet
They’re doomed to toke forever, but never will get high
chained to a fire-snorting hookah, as they fly by hear ’em cry

hippie hi o, hippie hi a, it’s the ghost tokers in the sky

As they flew on by he heard, one call out his name
“If you want to save your soul from hell, you better change your ways!
Cut down on constant smoking, or with us you will ride
And you will toke forever, and never will get high!”

hippie hi o, hippie hi a, it’s the ghost tokers in the sky

(copyright Steven Hager 2011)

A hippie looks at 60

(To the tune of “A Pirate Looks at 40” by Jimmy Buffett)
Mother, Mother planet
you make me feel so small
spring, summer, winter procession
and, of course the fall
We’ve done it all
We’ve seen it all

Now the winter worsens
birds fall from the sky
fish and frogs are dyin’
the bees are cryin’
what the hell is goin’ on?
somethin’s wrong
somethin’s wrong

Yes, I am a hippie
60 years too late
don’t tell the neighbors
or put it on facebook but
I used to live in the Haight

ran away to the Haight

got schooled in the Haight

Well, I’ve done my share of smokin’
inhaled my share of grass
breathed enough tar and gases
to fill a zillion bags
never meant to last
never meant to last

And I have been stoned now
for over ten years
rolling fatty after fatty
and drinkin’ some beer
but I need to stop smokin’
I’m practically chokin’
Need to stop smokin’
maybe, just a few days
for just a few days
(instrumental solo)

I go for sour diesel
or chemdog when I can find it
long as it’s kind bud
organic and well cured
you know, the super kind
just takes some time
just takes some time

Mother Mother planet
After all the years I’ve found
an occupational hazard is
when an occupation’s just not around
feel like I’m down
gotta head uptown
I feel like I’m down
gonna head uptown
(sound of vaporizer bag filling as music fades out)
copyright Steven Hager 2011