L-l-light it…

Torch up the green when the ring hits the flame—

C-c-crunch in my lungs, smoke in my veins,

The True King returns…

Bow low for the High Lord of the Funyuns.

Rolled up in the Shire with a fat-ass spliff,

Hobbits coughing in a circle like “bro, what is this?”

Pipe-weed mixed with that Mordor twist,

Got Bilbo seeing stars like Elven glyphs.

Samwise stoned, mumbling “second breakfast…”

I’m packing onion rings like felony possession.

Frodo hit the blunt once—

Face went pale, started stressing,

Whispering “the Lord of the Funyuns is a dark obsession…”

Gollum fiending hard, eyes wide, head twitching,

Trying to steal my stash like a gremlin glitching—

I said “no no no, p-p-precious, quit snitching,”

Hit him with a cloud so strong the cave started shifting.

M-m-merry, m-m-merry, munch mode scary—

R-r-rip that bag open like a two-hit cherry.

P-p-pippin, p-p-pippin, puff what I’m sippin’—

Crunch rings stacked while the halflings trippin’.

One crunch to rule them,

One puff to blind them,

One ring of smoke across Middle-Earth to bind them.

Bags in my left hand, blunt in my right—

King of the Funyuns

Getting all realms high tonight.

Walked into Mordor blowing O-rings slow,

Sauron’s Eye blinked twice like “bro… yo…”

Even the orcs paused mid-charge for a toke,

Then the munchies hit hard—

Whole army broke.

Lit up a joint so loud it shook Minas Tirith,

Aragorn smelled it from a mile like “I gotta get near this…”

Legolas took one hit—

Went silent…

Said “I can’t feel my ears, bruh, is this spirit?”

Gimli yelling “that’s mine!” swinging his axe—

I passed him a Funyun, he collapsed on his back.

Nazgûl swooped down screeching for snacks,

I threw a blunt in the air—

They chased it like bats.

G-g-gandalf, g-g-gandalf, gas got you faded—

Grey turned White when the smoke regenerated.

S-s-saruman tried jacking my stash—

One crunch later, tower turned ash.

One crunch to rule them,

One puff to lift them,

One king so baked every kingdom drifts with him.

Bow to the munch-lord,

Snack-god vision—

Funyun crown glowing

In a THC collision.

Aragorn stepped up like “this ends now—”

I exhaled a plume so potent it took down the crown.

He took two hits, forgot the battle, sat down—

Mumbled “bro, your snacks taste like magic brown…”

Elrond floated.

Galadriel giggled.

Rivendell baked like an Elven drizzle.

Even Smaug rolled over on a gold-pile sizzle,

Saying “hit that again, king— my scales feel brittle.”

Middle-Earth bowed when the smoke settled in,

Not to steel, not to bloodline kin—

But to f-f-funyuns, f-f-funyuns, f-f-funyuns again

And the blunt-lit tyrant

On the weed-throne within.

One crunch to rule them all,

One puff divine—

The True King of the Funyuns

Lights up all timelines.

Bow, Middle-Earth,

Bow or fall—

Weed-crowned overlord

And I. Own. It. All.