I saw bill maher 4/20 carol and lit a blunt and decided to pen a carol, my blunt is now a roach: Twas the night after 420, when all through the house not a stoner was sober, not even a pusher. The stockings were hung by the chimney with care, in hopes that snoop dogg would soon appear. These niggas were stoned all snug in their beds, while visions of sugar plums danced in their heads. And this hoe in her 'kerchief, and I in my cap, had just settled our brains for a long stoner nap. When out on the roof there arose such a clatter, I sprang from my bed fill with paranoia to see what was a matter. Away to the window I flew like a flash, tore open the shutter, and smoke some more hash. The moon had big fucking breast then I realize i was tripping gave the lusty looks to the hoe above my ceiling, when, what to my wondering eyes should appear, but a miniature sleigh filled with bitches and reindeers. With snoop dogg, so lively and happy I knew in a moment i must be plastered. More rapid than eagles, his coursers they came, and he hollered and shouted and called them by name: "Now OG KUSH! Now NYC DIESEL! Now, White Widow and GREEN CRACK! On, Blueberry! On, Alaskan Thunder FUck! On, Ghost Train Haze and AK47! To the top of the porch! To the top of the wall! Now dash away! Dash away! Dash away all!" As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly, when they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky so up to the house-top the coursers they flew, with a sleigh full of bitches and snoop dogg too. And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof a flick of a bic and a harsh cough or two. As I drew in my head and was turning around, down the chimney snoop dog came with a bound. He was dressed all in fur, from his head to his foot, and his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot. A fat sack of buds he had flung on his back, and he looked like a peddler just opening his sack. His eyes-red as fuck! His dimples, how merry! His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry! His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow, and the beard on his chin was nappy and corse. The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth, and the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath. He had a black face and smelled like dank chronic, His sac was filled to the brim, like a bowl packed with that chronic. He bust not a rhyme, but went straight to his work, and filled all the stockings with what came from the dirt, then turned with a jerk. And laying his finger aside of his nose, and giving a nod, up the chimney he rose. Leaving the crib with some of dat wax. He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle, And away they all flew like the down of a thistle. But I heard him exclaim, 'ere he drove out of sight, "Happy a merry 420, and to all a good night!"