Good Old Days

Back when I was 17, my friend, John Dustin, he sold weed
 He used to let me smoke for free, so I'd help him make his rounds
 He always kept his pager on, 'cause back then nobody had cell phones
 He'd get a page, and we'd be gone we must've moved a thousand pounds
 God bless the good old days, when all we had to do was ride and blaze
 Yeah we'd head out towards Elkhart and cut across the Lost Prairie Lake
 Those backroads seem a hundred miles away
 God bless the good old days
 We'd try to get to school by 8, but most the time we'd roll up late
 We'd have eyes as red as hades gate, and we smelled like Cheech & Chong
 We'd drop a couple of drops of clear eyes in,
 And take one last hit then stroll on in
 Chunk the deuce to all our friends, no we couldn't do no wrong
 God bless the good old days, when all we had to do was ride and blaze
 I can go from Westwood to Montalba, about a hundred different ways
 Those backroads seem a thousand miles away
 God bless the good old days
 Yeah they say that gettin' high, and gettin' stoned
 Is an awful waste of time
 But the memories that I cherish most are of a fat ass homegrown dime.
 God bless the good old days,
 When there weren't no mouths to feed or no bills to pay
 We'd go all the way to Jacksonville, and never touch highway
 Those backroads seem a million miles away
 God bless the good old days
 God bless the good old days
 God bless the good old days