My friend Jane likes getting stoned
ain't got no money for her own
but she'll smoke everything I own
then hoard her stash when mine is gone.
I'll call her on the telephone,
Hey girl whats up, chillin' at home?
and either she is not alone,
or she blows off the ringing phone.
It's always goes down the same way,
she's flat broke, she'll always say
even though she gets her pay
every other Saturday.
Yet Friday night, without delay
she's at my house, she's in my way
under my heels, the friendly stray
who'll pay her half on Saturday.
I'm tired of hearing same old same.
This "Friendship" thing is such a pain.
I want her dead, but I refrain
from pulling out my gun on Jane.
Instead, I share the last remains
of every bag I've saved for rain;
for me, there's no more mary jane
till someone finally marries Jane!
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