Six minutes.
Six minutes.
Six minutes.
Off your life,
For every time you light your vice.
I ask you to stop.
You’re my best friend,
And I don’t want that to end.
You say it’s too late,
That you’re addicted.
Saying not to worry,
That for now it’ll be ok.
Saying “I’ll cut down to one pack a day”.
Six minutes

But what about not now, but later?
When you’re older.
Will you still be here to be my best friend?
To give me advice?
To lend me your hand?
Six Minutes

What about one day,
When you get married.
And your wife, what will she say?
Six minutes,
Less at your wedding.
Six minutes,
Less with your wife.
Six minutes,
Less because of that horrid vice.

I beg you to stop.
You say it’s ok.
Saying you’ll cut down to one pack a day.
Six minutes.

I see you all the time,
And you say, “Smoking is no crime”.
And when you give me a hug
I feel your warmth,
I feel your love,
And the smell of cigarettes,
The smell of death.
Six minutes.

I beg you to stop.
You say it’s ok.
Saying you’ll cut down to one pack a day.
Six minutes.

What happens when you have that little girl?
And she coughs and chokes,
On the air of your second hand smoke.
Six minutes,
Less of holding her for the first time.
Six minutes,
Less of seeing her growing up.
Six minutes,
Sooner to your death.

I beg you to stop.
You say it’s ok.
Saying you’ll cut down to one pack a day.
Six minute

You’re my best friend
I see you struggle trying to defend,
The reasons why your life won’t end,
Trying to comfort me, to make amends.
Six minutes.
You claim it will be ok.
But all I see, is your lungs decay.
From the toxic tar,
That will leave your lungs scared.
Six minutes.

I beg you to stop.
You say it’s ok.
Saying you’ll cut down to one pack a day.
Six minutes.

I want to help,
Can’t you see?
What can I do,
To make you believe?
That this “cool look” of yours,
Is not as great as it seems.
So please, let that pack be.
Six minutes.

I beg you to stop.
You say it’s ok.
Saying you’ll cut down to one pack a day.
Six minutes.

Six minutes.
Six minutes.
Six minutes.
You’re gone.