In the age of dopeness, the world was super strict… clouded by fog.
A land of suburbs, mansions, and everlasting po-po.
But then there was dank, and with it came disparity.
High, and low.
Trippin, and stable.
And of course, Po, and Ghetto.
Creatures approached, and found the souls of gangstas in the fire.
Nito, Ravelord of the Club.
The Bitch of Izalith, and her clique.
Gwyn, lord of the Dank, and his faithful crew.
With the souls of gangstas they challenged the po-po.
Gryn's mighty weed tore apart their police cars.
The Bitch of Izalith weaved great shitstorms.
Nito spread a great miasma of acid and dank.
And Officer Jenkins betrayed his own, and the Po-Po were no more.
Thus began the age of dankness.
But soon, the dank will fade, and only law will remain.
Even now, there are only ganja seeds, and the playas aint high, only endless sobreity.
And amongst the gangstas are seen, the accursed "Party Pooper Sign"