The first song I ever wrote had three chords and one word. The word was marijuana. Nineteen sixty-seven. Nobody had said that word in a song before. Not on a record. Not on a stage. Not anywhere a microphone could hear it. People smoked it. People sold it. People went to prison for it. But nobody sang about it. I sang about it. In Washington Square Park. With a twelve-dollar guitar and no permission from anybody.

The song was not complicated. I like marijuana. You like marijuana. We like marijuana too. That was the whole song. Three lines. Three chords. A child could sing it. A child could understand it. That was the point. The most dangerous ideas are the ones a child can understand. Because if a child can understand it then you cannot hide behind complexity. You cannot say the issue is nuanced. The issue is a plant. You either put people in jail for a plant or you do not. A child knows the answer. I wrote the child's answer and I sang it in the park.

Elektra Records heard that song and signed me. Not because it was good. Because it was first. Being first is worth more than being good. The first person to say the obvious thing that everybody is thinking — that person changes the room. The second person to say it is just agreeing. I was not a great songwriter. I was a fast one. I heard what the street was thinking and I said it before the street figured out how to say it itself.

That song got me arrested. That song got me an FBI file. That song got me a record deal. That song got John Lennon to walk across a park and shake my hand. One song. Three chords. One word. Everything else I ever did started with that song. You do not need a catalog. You do not need a discography. You need one song that tells the truth before anybody else has the nerve to sing it. I had that song. I sang it in the park. And here I am. Still singing it. Still three chords. Still one word. Still no permission.

See also: Have a Marijuana — the song that started everything. The Apple — Lennon walked across the park. Forty Pages — what happens when the state meets the plant. The Arrest — the song got him handcuffs and headlines. Ten for Two — Sinclair got ten years for two joints. The Guitar — the twelve-dollar instrument that changed the room. The Archive Tapes — four real recordings. The man before the signal came back. The Tape — somebody found a tape. The man on the tape is dead. The Cover — every song wants to live in a voice it was not born in. That is not imitation. That is resurrection. The Chorus — the part written for your mouth. Have a marijuana. Three words. Impossible to forget. The Bridge — the eight bars between the second chorus and the last. The bridge is the doubt. The Verse — the foundation. The chorus gets the glory but the verse does the work. The Melody — the part you take home with you. You cannot delete a melody from a human head. The Lyric — the part that gets you arrested. I like marijuana — three words, one FBI file, one record deal.