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A Poetic Puff on the Origins of 420

In the year of ’71, in the golden California sun,
Five high schoolers, known as “Waldos,” had some fun.
At 4:20 by the Pasteur statue, they’d meet,
To escape the jocks and enjoy a discreet treat.

“420” was their code, their secret call,
A nod to their rendezvous, known to one and all.
From the schoolyard to the Deadhead scene, the term took flight,
And thus, a global cannabis symbol was set alight.

Now, let’s debunk some myths, let’s set things straight,
No, 420’s not a police code, that’s just clickbait.
And Hitler’s birthday? Come on, give me a break,
That’s just a weird coincidence, a bizarre mistake.

The Waldos, now grown, still live in the north,
Their legacy, a global “holiday” henceforth.
From under the bleachers to the cover of High Times,
Their code-word journey is the stuff of rhymes.

They’d embark on safaris, high as a kite,
Like that time they followed cows in the moonlight.
“We thought they were hamburgers,” one Waldo joked,
But they were just hungry cows, in pot smoke cloaked.

Times have changed, the Waldos say,
Weed’s stronger now, and it’s more okay.
It’s not just for the rebels, the outlaws, the cool,
It’s for the ailing, the curious, even the school fool.

Now, let’s take a moment, let’s give a shout,
To a man who’s made 420 all about clout.
Snoop Dogg, the king, the legend, the star,
With a cloud of smoke, he’s never far.

He’s taken the Waldos’ legacy, given it a spin,
Made 420 a party, filled with grin.
So here’s to Snoop, in his cloud of haze,
Keeping the 420 spirit ablaze.

So light up, or don’t, that’s your call,
Just remember the Waldos, who started it all.
And as the clock strikes 4:20, let out a cheer,
For the underground code that we hold so dear.

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