Ganja Poem by Alex David

Mother earth has provided us enough to smoke,
you throw the seeds and it grows like weeds.
This is the land of Mother Ganga,
What is there in smoking Ganja?

Our leaders and planners work without spanners,
thinking grass smokers have no manners
but there's white woven beer, whisky and wine
and its killing people all the time.

Employment is nil and they have no will
as they enter the drug zone with thrill.
Money in their pocket, they zoom like rocket,
making themselves as, fused socket.
The government is to blame, you know?
'cause they don'y allow ganja to grow.