In the laid-back California town of sunny San Rafael

Lived a girl named Pearley Sweetcake, you prob’ly knew her well

She’d been stoned fifteen of her eighteen years and the story was widely told.

That she could smoke ’em faster than anyone could roll

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Her legend finally reached New York, that Grove Street walk-up flat

Where dwelt The Calistoga Kid, a beatnik from the past

With long browned lightnin’ fingers he takes a cultured toke

And says, “Hell, I can roll ’em faster, Jim, than any chick can smoke!”

So a note gets sent to San Rafael, “for the Championship of the World The Kid demands a smoke off!”

“Well, bring him on,” says Pearl, “I’ll grind his fingers off his hands, he’ll roll until he drops!”

Says Calistoga, “I’ll smoke that twist till she blows up and pops!”

So they rent out Yankee Stadium and the word is quickly spread

Come one, come all, who walk or crawl, price – just two lids a head

And from every town and hamlet, over land and sea they speed

The world’s greatest dopers, with the world’s greatest weed

Hashishers from Morocco, hemp smokers from Peru

And the Shamnicks from Bagun who puff the deadly Pugaroo

And those who call it Light of Life and those who call it boo.

See the dealers and their ladies wearing turquoise, lace and leather

See the narcos and the closet smokers puffin’ all together

From the teenies who smoke legal to the ones who’ve done some time

To the old man who smoked “reefer” back before it was a crime

And the grand old house that Ruth build is filled with smoke and cries

Of fifty thousand screaming heads all stoned out of their minds

And they play the national anthem and the crowd lets out a roar

As the spotlight hits The Kid and Pearl, ready for their smokin’ war

At a table piled up high with grass, as high as a mountain peak

Just tops and buds of the rarest flowers, not one stem branch or seed.

Maui Wowie, Panama Red and Acapulco Gold

Kif from East Afghanistan and rare Alaskan Cold

Sticks from Thailand,Ganja from the Islands, Bangkok’s Bloomin’ Best

And some of that wet imported shit that capsized off Key West

Oaxacan tops and Kenya Bhang and Riviera Fleurs

And that rare Manhattan Silver that grows down in the New York sewers

And there’s bubblin’ ice-cold lemonade and sweet grapes by the bunches

There’s Hershey’s bars and Oreo’s, ‘case anybody gets the munchies

And The Calistoga Kid he sneers, and Pearley she just grins

And the drums roll low and the crowd yells, “GO! ” and the world’s first Smoke Off begins.

Kid flicks his magic fingers once and ZAP! that first joint’s rolled

Pearl takes one drag with her mighty lungs and WOOSH! that roach is cold

Then The Kid he rolls his Super Bomb that’d paralyze a moose

And Pearley takes one super hit and SLURP! that bomb’s defused

Then he rolls three in just ten seconds and she smokes ’em up in nine

And everyone sits back and says, “This just might take some time.”

See the blur of flyin’ fingers, see the red coal burnin’ bright

As the night turns into mornin’ and the mornin’ fades to night

And the autumn turns to summer and the whole damn year is gone

But the two still sit on that roach-filled stage, smokin’ and rollin’ on

With tremblin’ hands he rolls his jays with fingers blue and stiff

She coughs and stares with bloodshot gaze, and puffs through blistered lips

And as she reaches out her hand for another stick of gold

The Kid he gasps, “Godammit it, bitch, there’s nothin’ left to roll”

“Nothin’ left to roll?” screams Pearl, “Is this some twisted joke?”

“I didn’t come here to fuck around, man, I come here to SMOKE!”

And she reaches ‘cross the table and she grabs his bony sleeves

And she crumbles his body between her hands like dried and brittle leaves

Flickin’ out his teeth and bones like useless stems and seeds

Then she rolls him in a Zig Zag and lights him like a roach

And the fastest man with the fastest hands goes up in a puff of smoke.

In the laid-back California town of sunny San Rafael

Lives a girl named Pearley Sweetcake, you prob’ly know her well

She’s been stoned twenty-one of her twenty-four years, and the story’s widely told

How she still can smoke them faster than anyone can roll

While off in New York City, on a street that has no name

There’s the hands of The Calistoga Kid in the Viper Hall of Fame

And underneath his fingers there’s a little golden scroll

That says, Beware of Bein’ the Roller When There’s Nothin’ Left to Roll.