Stoner with a Boner

They go to places even real estate agents never did, they get dealers, who have their stash, quite a clean chit.. Maal, the translation to drugs you score, the club, awaits you with an open door.. Stoner on the road, stoner on the tracks, stash in my sock, hidden inside a case in my bag pack.. The stoner with a boner is the Man many want to be, the man with a joint and on the other side the same guy fiddling with a chick's G.. No shadying, they get their way with no bowing.. Came along the feminine gender, wanting to explore the stick, not the penis this time, they stare down the road, the sky, while tinkles that wind chime.. Gazing on a chase, life on a 'Blaze', they're the stoner's born, the stars of the night torn.. When age will take a toll, either they'd rise, or their soul.. They don't need no laughing club, just an early morning Gola of weed before a dump, following the same night came along a fleet of girls, one of out five, want to stone hump.. The stoner and his boner, get life to 'rise', an addiction if tomorrow, "Hi Rehab, fuck it's all jeopardized".. The boner cries till it's out of 'tears' due to the damage within, the stoner lies injected with more, immune to traffic within.. The stoner with a boner dies an early age, but those years live to yell a tale, of a life style, raged and engaged..

Mumbai, the queen in a thong

Mumbai, the Mafia's maska, Mumbaikar, the man with a chaska, matter karega toh milega lafda, pyaar karega toh milega Jhaatka.. Fundas and pandus are street smart here, life travels with no gear, no fear.. The local train is a ventilator for the major chunk, the streets never fail to drool you over with their junk.. Bhaigiri in every gaali, zyada bolega you go home without a bulli.. Girls like to let down their swag, guys act like chicks, they love to brag, 'From Mumbai, Maharashtra' on your facebook profile? Feels good, doesn't it, this city being your domicile.. You can't be bovine to achieve your desire, you laze or feel permeated, you catch fire.. The highways are often painted with speeding tyres, tycoons and mantris, in their lal batti, running about in that fiery attire.. Vada pav, a staple diet, the fat mumbaikar, can never keep his stomach quiet.. Break ups, are quite the reasons for suicides here, puberty seems to be a dagger creating a stir.. But they breathe, they fight, they love to feed one and all, this is we, back to normalcy, hours after an aftermath sprawled.. Roses without a hymen, skies are blue, but the pollution here, will certainly make you puke.. The tobacco flute is the tune every ad professional here blows, Hi 30 years, will I even seen you, bro? Fight for survival, the hefty push in the train, people want space from their loved ones, and Mumbai wants space from the builders who want to build their terrain.. Mumbai chokes in every toke, while you try to evoke and soak.. This city has manifested itself into a charm indeed, and somehow manages to feed every greed.. Mumbai, where I was born and turned brawn, here's a note dedicated to you, you queen in a thong..