Some sing of the lily, some sing of the rose,
Some sing of each flower in beauty that blows;
But sing me a song that shall render its meed
To the fragrance and aroma found in a weed,
Which banishes care and mitigates grief--
I mean a big twist of old "natural leaf!"
When sorrow's dark mantle the spirit doth wear,
And the heart is oppressed with the demon of care,
Then get out your pipe and its magic invoke
And all of your troubles will vanish in smoke!
O, you who have tried it will know what I mean
When the praises I sing of a hank of long green!
Since the days of King James and his old counterblast
Its sway of all classes has ever held fast,
And its patron saint Raleigh forever will live
In remembrance as sweet as affection can give,
And the incense we burn is an offering seen
In wreaths of blue smoke from a twist of long green!
Now some may advise you and others may swear
That nicotine poison your nerves will impair,
And if from the weed you'd just kept aloof
From heartburn and palsy you'd surely been proof--
For a man who had died at a hundred fifteen
Was hastened away by smoking long green!
But a cigar, a pipe, or a good juicy chew
Will yield you more comfort than harm they will do,
And murder the microbes that float in the air,
And make magical dreams in the old arm-chair,
If you will remember, and never forget,
To just draw the line at a vile cigarette!