"Odeio segunda/ não gosto de terça/ melhoro na quarta/ sorrio na quinta/ gargalho na sexta/ eu subo na mesa..."(1)
Santana Lopez felt her heart pound in her chest as she ran as hard as she could. She was in the best shape so far: she had no serious injuries for a while, regular training gave her the ability to run faster and longer. She could reach 50km/h and keep the top speed for about 10 minutes, as measured by Marley Rose. Santana was stronger, too. She got to raise two tons for a few minutes. Marley was doing a great job. Not only was she the person who competently managed the assets of the vigilantes (the inheritance Grant Fish left to Santana), but she was also a dedicated physical education researcher. Marley wasn't exactly a scientist in the area, but she struggled to learn as much as she could to contribute to the group.
"... e começo a dançar/ e só vou parar/ quando a polícia chegar."(1)
Santana was giving her all. The sirens were nearby, police cars were chasing after her like crazy. Imagine this: the vigilante ran through the city in broad daylight, promoting a media spectacle for journalists and the hundreds of witnesses who recorded excerpts of the crazy pursuit through the streets of the city. The roads she needed to do promoted a spectacle that caused tire friction, sudden braking, small beats along the way. The sirens produced an annoying symphony, but the vigilante couldn't stop.
"You're almost there, San!" Santana listened to Marley by the listening point.
Santana couldn't respond verbally. With the effort she was making to run to the right place, not get caught in the way and not get shot, vocalizing any consistent phrase was too demanding. She ran between cars in the wrong direction, turned off the road, took supposed escape routes, but soon reappeared to the police to continue to pursue her. She could hear sirens, horns, and even shouts of encouragement. The police detested it, but the vigilantes have become somewhat popular in the city, especially the supposed leader, the skinny girl with incredible strength who, a little over a year ago, saved lives by holding a pickup that would plummet from the city's taller bridge.
"Não tem como voltar/ só vamos parar/ quando a polícia chegar..."(1)
In her completely black uniform and the old ninja cap that only left her eyes on, Santana was beginning to show signs of exhaustion. Luckily the final destination was very close. The police were just behind, the sirens were on, there was all the noise, and Santana ran into the middle-class neighborhood that was very close to the house where Rachel Berry's parents lived. The quiet street suddenly found itself invaded by the vigilante's confusion. Santana entered one of the houses. She invaded the place, catching surprise by two men who were armed. The vigilante punched them both shut to make them unconscious. Then she turned for a brief moment to the front of the house, which was already being surrounded by the police.
"Flying!" Santana said over the phone. "Now!"
She ran to the backyard and spotted Artie flipping through the flyers and then flew into the backyard of the house, holding Santana's hand. They flew toward the woods, where they could divert the policemen and escape. Not that the law enforcers were behind the vigilantes, since suddenly some men who was in the house invaded by the vigilante, despaired and opened fire. The police reacted. In the crossed shot, the men was shot down and the house was invaded. From the vigilante there was no sign whatsoever; on the other hand, agents discovered that the basement of the house was overflowing with weapons, ammunition, explosives and a very expensive collection of wines.
"Quando a polícia chegar..." (1)
...
Santana was completely exhausted and sweaty when she reached the apartment with Artie. They found Marley Rose and Quinn Fabray watching the press coverage they did live in front of the house, which was the end point of the vigilante action for that day. And it wasn't any journalist or channel they accompanied. Mercedes Jones spoke frantically to the front of the camera.
"We have just had access to one of the leaflets scattered by the flying vigilante. They are copies of a letter apologizing for the inconvenience and justifying the mobilization as the only way they found of causing the police to blow up a depot of smuggled arms that would be distributed to drug groups by the state. The letter says that their denunciation was summarily ignored, and they still accuse the existence of corrupt agents and infiltrators..."
The letter was Quinn Fabray's idea, who wasn't present in that particular operation, but who participated actively in the vigilante's activity. The vigilantes discovered that there was an undercover agent in the police station who was hiding evidences and accusations that came to the department. When they realized that the clandestine distribution warehouse could be disabled if they anonymously denounced the location, Santana had the idea of taking the police there, and Quinn suggested drafting the "open letter" to explain the confusion that would be caused.
"The repercussion on social media is already great," Quinn said as she manipulated the cell phone. "But I'm sure the new sheriff will outwit us for having reported in an open letter that there is an infiltrate to the police rather than the weapons depot itself."
"I can't wait for Matt to finish his training at the police academy." Santana removed the listening equipment and looked at the table of cases they were investigating. She took the brush and crossed out the operation she had just performed. "It'll make it a lot easier to have one of us in there." Then she turned to her friends. "Did someone order food? This whole race made me hungry!"
"There's a whole pizza from yesterday," Marley reported as she checked the computers. "Seriously, we need a hacker or someone agile enough to operate this tower," she complained.
"What's the matter, Rose?" Artie approached the command table. He himself had more computer skills than his friend, but the fact that he needed to be on the field prevented him from operating the table as much as he wanted.
"This thing has stopped again."
As Artie checked the computers, Marley got up and headed for Santana. She took the vigilantes' hand, who was still wearing a glove (Santana began to wear the dressing gown since she began wearing the new black uniform, as she was convinced she was a matter of protecting her identity). They exchanged quick glances, as if they were talking in silence. The gesture didn't go unnoticed by Quinn, by far, the best observer of the team. It had been some time since Santana and Marley were meeting intimately. They couldn't call it dating, for Santana still had things to settle with Jenny. The leader would assume nothing with Marley until she solved this particular problem. Jenny was possessive and knew Santana's secret identity. The leader hated being in the hands of someone who, in a moment of anger, could denounce her.
Quinn saw everything with some concern. Marley was the person who administered all the money destined for the vigilantes' operation. She had put the money into stocks and active funds, so that she could get some every month to pay the bills and her own salary. Quinn understood that the money was officially from Santana, as were all the properties that the vigilantes wore: the apartment in the center of town and the cabin in the forest grounds. What if Marleyt and Santana disagreed? What if Santana couldn't solve the problem with Jenny? Worse: what if Rachel returned? Would Marley have enough maturity to face all these problems and still remain professional? After all, Marley was the only one with a salary. And there was a good ideological justification for it.
"Pizza, ice queen?" Santana finally removed her gloves and took the pack of the dawn pizza.
"I'm fine. I'm leaving soon to get Beth at school." She sighed and went to the espresso machine. She poured herself a cup. "I still have a test to do tonight in college. Thankfully we have solved this problem." Qyuinn went before the investigation panel and saw the pending cases. There was still a big one to solve, apart from the day-to-day problems they were handling while patrolling.
"Are you sleeping in the cabin today?" Santana asked, looking casual. Quinn was the vigilante who liked to spend time in the cabin, for it was a quiet, peaceful place, unlike the living quarters in which she lived.
"Not today," Quinn replied, trying to feign indifference. "You can't go there with so much to do in the city today and tomorrow. Who will cover Mercedes?"
"Wouldn't it be me?" Artie frowned at Quinn. "By the way, Rose, the system is fine. It was just a bug."
Artie showed all the cameras that were connected to the system. They were a total of 40 that spread through the city in strategic places, including in the building where they were. There was a camera in front of the police station, another on the city hall street, two in the park and a few others that were relocated according to the investigations that were being done. All of them worked using the city's own wi-fi system, whose passwords were hacked by a friend of Artie a few months ago. A trifle cost five Thousand to the vigilantes' pocket.
"Things seem to be rattling at the police station and the city hall." Artie highlighted the two cameras and then checked the Mercedes messages. "There's going to be a press conference soom. The note card had more repercussion than we had anticipated."
"Great!" Santana saw the messages while eating the pizza pieces. "While Matt is not in, it's good to have things shaken from the inside. If things don't change on their side, and they don't make the minimum, our job will be impossible in this city."
"That's because the police's priority today is to arrest us, and they forget about the real bad guys." Quinn sighed and began to pick up her things. "I need to get Beth in school... I'm already late," Quinn grunted.
"Get my car, Ice." Santana took the keys from the table and offered them to her friend.
Quinn didn't hesitate. She took the keys from Santana's hands and hurried out of the apartment. Santana wouldn't need her car that night.
...
Marley was the only person who made money working for the vigilantes. At least that was the way everyone else voted to have someone with exclusive dedication. But there were times when Quinn bitterly regretted having voted in favor of such a proposal. Not when she knows there is a source of income, however, she and the others continue living in the shit. She still had to work at the bookstore and live in one of the poorer neighborhoods of the city. She paid rent, paid the paralegal course, paid for food, paid for Beth's extra activities at school, and at the end of the month she didn't even have the money to buy new panties. Sometimes Quinn wanted to cry. So much power in her hands, so many responsibilities, an entire year dedicated to the vigilantes, and she felt like shit. She parked the car and went to the front of the school. Beth was already waiting next to the teacher.
"Sorry I'm late. I had a setback and this traffic..." Quinn smiled uneasily at the woman.
"All right," the woman said dryly, releasing the child. "Looks like that damn vigilante messed up the whole city traffic."
Beth glared at the teacher, but Quinn moved quickly before the six-year-old girl tried to defend the vigilantes. It was what Beth did because she knew her mother was part of the group.
"It's not that bad. I curled up. Excuse me."
Quinn took her daughter's backpack and they went to the car.
"Did you borrow Santana's car?"
"Kinda, now get in there, honey."
Beth went to the backseat while Quinn took over. The woman glanced at her watch. She wasn't going to have time to leave Beth at home and go back to college. The girl could be already alone for a few hours, which greatly facilitated Quinn's work. The mother taught the little girl to call the emergency phones if necessary, to never answer the door for anyone while she was alone, not even for Matt (the horrible and, unfortunately, frequent stories of men raping their girlfriends' daughters were enough for Quinn to trust even the closest person she had). Beth also knew how to use the microwave, to make her own snack, and she knew that, unless the building was on fire, she shouldn't leave the apartment under any circumstances.
"Beth, do you mind going to college today with me?"
"More school?"
"I have a test to do. I promise we'll have tacos for dinner. What do you think?"
"Okay." The little girl didn't look very excited. "Mom?"
"Yeah?" Quinn called the car and headed for college.
"You were at your secret job today?"
"Yes, I was." Quinn never gave the daughter details of her operations.
"Did you help fighting or watching?"
"I was watching this time."
Quinn glanced in the rearview mirror and saw her daughter with a little grin in the back seat. Beth was proud of her mother being a secret superhero: the ice queen. Quinn just wasn't sure how long such a pride would perpetuate. While in college, Quinn was able to take the criminal law test, a subject for which she was even specializing in the nature of parallel work. Even the busy day didn't disturb the performance of the event. Meanwhile, outside the living room, Beth watched television in the college cafeteria under the steady gaze of miss Collins, who worked there. Quinn paid $50 for the favor, money that was precious, and she certainly wouldn't be able to recover.
"Beth?" The little girl, who was sitting at one of the tables doing her homework, looked at the man she hadn't seen for some time, so she remembered vaguely. "I'm Kurt, don't you remember me?" She nodded, but she still had doubts. "I'm friends with your mother and Rachel's. Do you remember Rachel."
"Yes, I do." Beth said with more conviction.
"Kurt Hummel? Is there a problem here?" Miss Collins was really attentive.
"Of course not, miss Collins." Kurt smiled. "It's just that I know Beth's mother, Quinn Fabray. We did theater together last year and had a good time not seeing this little girl here. Beth has grown a lot, I'm impressed!"
"Okay, but what are you doing here, Hummel? I thought you graduated."
"Yes, but I was invited to speak to a class as the screenwriter for the next play that will be staged by the amateur theater company." The boy said proudly.
"Impressive," Miss Collins said with the indifference that was peculiar to her.
"What's going on here?" Quinn approached the group. She had finished the test and as soon as she handed the document to the professor, she ran not to leave her daughter alone for a minute. The adults surrounding the child were amazed.
"Quinn!" Kurt smiled. "Long time no see you. I saw Beth around here and imagined you were around. By the way, how are you doing?"
"I'm fine. Working triple journeys, studying... single mother's life. What about you?"
"I'm working in the theater company."
"Cool." Quinn did not hide the disinterest. But there was a good cause: she was tired after a busy day, literally.
"Have you talked to Rachel? I haven't heard from her in a while."
"Rachel's fine, as far as I know. We talk every week, and she's been working hard."
"Cool…"
"Yeah…"
"Beth, let's go. Thank you for breaking that branch, miss Collins, and it was a pleasure, Kurt."
Quinn left the college holding Beth's hand toward Santana's old car. She turned on the radio, which was fixed on the news station. It was the economics program. She looked at the rearview mirror and saw her daughter asleep in the back seat. The neighborhood wasn't so far from the community college campus, but the girl must have been really tired. Quinn narrowed her eyes for a second, sighed, and when she found herself, she had to stop abruptly at the entrance to the neighborhood where she lived. Her heart pounded as she saw a man banging on the hood of the car. Immediately she got out of the car and only then came across a very nervous man, who pointed the gun at her.
"Your fucking cow! I want the car now."
"Ok..." She said shakily, hands up. "Just let me get my daughter." Beth's cry and cry from inside the car made her desperate.
The man, nervous and apparently limping over the car crash, didn't hear her, didn't want to know. He tapped Quinn's face, which ended up responding. Her hand was freezing, her eyes turned grey. She held the barrel of the gun, the thug fired, but the shot failed due to the cold. Quinn took advantage of the confusion to kick the man in a well-placed low blow, followed by a knee to the man's face, which fell. It was in moments like this that she gave thanks to the training she did with the vigilantes. Quinn saw other men come up screaming. They seemed to be armed. Quinn didn't want to get lucky by chance: she ran back to the car and pulled out of there. Instead of going to the building where she lived, which was in the next block, she took the avenue that gave access to the exit of the city.
"Come on, Beth!" Quinn said, still shaking when she finally pulled up in front of the cabin that was forty miles from downtown.
Quinn had the keys to that place. All the vigilantes had a copy. There was a fine car parked in front of the cabin. It was Marley's. Quinn wasn't surprised at all to realize that Santana and she used the cabin on weekdays to get laid. She didn't give a damn. There was only one window with the light coming in from the kitchen, as well as the sound of music. If they were having sex in the kitchen, it was their problem. Quinn opened the door and faced the picturesque scene of seeing Santana naked on the blanket and rug in the living room by the fireplace, while Marley, equally naked, was preparing a late-night snack.
"Beth," Quinn ordered her daughter. "Go upstairs and go to the room Mommy likes to stay."
Santana stood up, pulling the blanket with her to cover her body, while Marley was so shocked she didn't know whether to hide or use the saucer to cover the private parts.
"Fabray... what's gotten into you to show up at a time like this?"
Quinn wanted to fight, to rage, to give a sermon. Instead, her voice didn't come, a shiver ran through her body, the temperature inside the cabin dropped a few degrees, and Quinn began to cry.
...
Santana was in love with Marley's sweet way. Those who knew the young woman, a little over a year younger than the leader of the vigilantes, could never have imagined that the prodigy had a troubled past of sex, drugs and Rio's funk. After the end and the success of the latest operation, Santana and Marley resolved to escape to the cabin, after all, the vigilante one judged in the right to relax a little after to have put the own skin in the part more dangerous task of the mission, which was to get the police into a catch-and-shoot game. Santana lost count of how many bullets passed whizzing near her on the way, as if, as much as the vigilantes were working to help clean up the city, the police only saw them as thugs of the highest danger.
The cabin was a haven of tranquility. It wasn't that far from the city, and was used as a training and leisure place by the vigilantes. There were no privileges among the vigilantes as to the use of the place, the rooms were occupied according to availability and everyone had an obligation to keep the place clean and organized. But, of course, there were some preferences among them. Quinn spent the weekends in the cabin and liked to use the bedroom with the window facing toward the sunrise. Santana used the cabin sometimes in the middle of the week to stay with Marley, or on weekends to train in the morning.
Mercedes wasn't a country girl and Artie protested about the lack of accessibility, although he could fly and float, so he rarely went to the cabin. Matt was at the police academy in training, but he liked to use the cabin for leisure. Rachel had only been on the place on two occasions before finally leaving for the metropolis. The use of the cabin was scattered, not least because the main meeting point of the vigilantes was the apartment in the city.
Santana was with Marley in the cabin because she knew there would be no one there to get in the way. They could have a romantic evening, have sex, and return to the city early in the morning, since Santana spent 20 hours a week in an architecture office. Without more credits to fulfill, Santana was already in the final stretch of the course. In academic terms, her only concern was to study for the final test. Studies in the afternoon, patrol at night. In this routine, she sometimes took a day off from dating.
It was so late that afternoon, having carefully followed the plan to make the police burst the weapons depot, with all media support, she decided to rest and celebrate with her secret lover. Despite Grant's recommendation not to fall in love with Marley, and the fact that Jenny was still her girlfriend, Santana couldn't resist the charms of the assistant. Besides, Rachel was off the scene. Marley, for her part, had been with women occasionally before Santana. She didn't consider herself gay, but she was enjoying the moment with the vigilante, especially since she didn't take the relationship so seriously. They were two grown-up people (even though they were still young) enjoying themselves sexually.
"Thirsty?" Marley asked after recovering from the latest orgasm.
"I drank a lot of liquid now."
"Oh!" Marley grimaced and blushed. "Was that to hurt?"
"Just the sad reality, babe. You were enjoying it for real. On the other hand, I think your throat is dry, since you screamed so much now."
Marley slapped Santana's arm and rose from the blanket stretched out on the soft carpet that stood in front of the fireplace in the cabin. She didn't care to cover her naked body. To tell the truth, just like Santana, she felt very comfortable with herself. Marley went to the kitchen and opened the refrigerator. There was little in it for obvious reasons. The vigilantes avoided bringing lots of fresh food to the place. But drink wasn't lacking. There were two apples inside the refrigerator, plus lemons, beer, a bottle of wine, frozen food in the freezer, and industrialized food in the cabinets, plus a providential bottle of vodka. Marley turned on the radio and put on a song she liked.
"Quer dançar? Quer dançar? Então prepara/ A maldição bateu, sambou, nunca mais para/ E tá na cara, a raiz tá cravada no chão/ Do tronco ao fruto com a canabinol fazendo a conexão/ E sangue bom, eu disse, sangue bom." (2)
Santana, still lying down, watched the girl dance naked behind the kitchen counter. Marley grabbed cookies in the cupboard and beer in the refrigerator. The relatively loud sound masked the sound coming from outside the parked car. The monitor that showed the two cameras outside the cabin was off. Hence their surprise when the door opened. Santana's eyes widened as she saw Quinn and Beth entering the cabin. Marley turned off the music and didn't know how to act.
"Beth," Quinn ordered her daughter. "Go upstairs and go to the room Mommy likes to stay."
Santana stood up, pulling the blanket with her to cover her body, while Marley was so shocked she didn't know whether to hide or use the saucer to cover the private parts.
"Fabray... what's gotten into you to show up at a time like this?"
Quinn wanted to fight, to rage, to give a sermon. Instead, the voice didn't come, a shiver ran through her body, the temperature inside the cabin dropped a few degrees, and Quinn began to cry.
Santana took the shirt, which was actually Marley's, and put on the panties, which was hers. With the least clothes on her body, enough to keep her from embarrassing, Santana wrapped her arms around Quinn. It was like hugging a block of ice, but Santana remained supportive of Quinn anyway.
"Hey girl... let it all out..." Santana said softly to her colleague.
Marley went to the fireplace and put on the clothes on the floor. Like Santana, she didn't care if the pieces were hers or not. She wore her quasi-girlfriend's T-shirt and pants. Since Santana was dealing with the mother, Marley found it helpful to help the child.
"Fabray... I don't have your resistance to the cold." Santana was already trembling, with smoke streaming out of her mouth. "You need to control yourself, okay?"
Quinn wiped the tears and took a deep breath. She went into the kitchen to pour herself a glass of water while Santana turned on the heater to help with the temperature of the cabin. It was cold at night, anyway. Then she approached her colleague one more time. Quinn wasn't that close to her. Apart from the fact that they had powers and be vigilantes, they didn't have much in common, hence why such moments of protection were so foreign to them both. Quinn was chatting with Matt, or she'd rather call Rachel than talk intimacies with Santana. But they were there, Marley must be with Beth, and things happened.
"I hit a guy who tried to rob me..." Quinn tried to elaborate. "And I ran away from other guys."
"Some guy tried to rob you and you ran over him?"
"No, it was the other way around." That sounded strange to Santana, but understanding the events in detail seemed less important to her. "I can't do it anymore, Santana."
"What can't you do?"
"All of it! I can't be a mother, a student, sell books, a vigilante and can't earn enough to pay the rent! And as if that weren't enough, come shit in my neighborhood and try to steal your old car with my daughter in there!" Quinn put her hands on her head. She was emotional. "I'm exhausted... I'm exhausted!"
"It's okay, Fabray. You are not alone. It's all right."
That's when Santana realized something: the vigilantes fight to save people, but who will save them from the very sorrows of life? Heroes of comic books are always super-scientists, detectives or amazing reporters whose money is never a problem. Santana had to admit that her position as a student and single woman was comfortable, and that she had forgotten to look at her companions: Quinn needed help.
...
Rachel was gasping when the play was over. She wasn't even the main actress of the company, much less the play that had spent three months staging. Although the play required physically, that wasn't why she was tired. She ran into the dressing room at the end and, still alone in space, looked at herself in the mirror. She already had enough control to know how her eyes and her body were, but the one in the mirror was a ritual. Yes, her eyes were turning red. Quickly, she took off the clothes she wore on the play, and put on her own. She removed her makeup as quickly as possible. When her colleagues entered the dressing room, Rachel was ready to leave, with sunglasses on her face.
"What's the urgency, Berry?" Unique sneered. "Are you going to meet some booty call?"
"I have a meeting," Rachel merely said.
Rachel hated Unique. In fact, she hated half the cast of that company. There was always someone trying to pull the carpet, and the competitive environment was exhausting. Unique, Kitty and Sebastian were the worst. There was still a "little group" of actors most loved by directors Shelby Corcoran, Cassandra July and Jesse St. James.
Rachel hated to think of Jesse. He was the company's most famous actor, and he had a reputation for acting regularly on television and in the theater. Jesse made so much money that he decided to buy part of the company, and to inject money into the productions and at Shelby Corcoran's small acting training school. The company itself was made up of a portion of the best students graduated from the school, and part of the actors who entered through the busy annual selection process, such as Rachel. Regardless of how the actresses were accepted, Jesse liked to keep the ritual of seducing and going to bed with the rookies who awakened his desire in some way. Rachel was one of them. When she understood what was happening, she realized how difficult that city would be.
"Where are you going?" Brody asked. He was part of the select group of favorite actors, and was secretly Cassandra's lover. More important than that, Brody was the only one in the company who knew Rachel's secret.
"I need to unload."
Brody gave up packing in the dressing room. He simply turned around to help her friend with benefits.
"It's the third time this week." Brody ran beside Rachel. He stole the lookout's coat on the way: the night in the metropolis would be cold. "Let's go to the park again?"
Rachel shook her head. What was the relationship of her powers to parks? But that was what she had at hand in a city of that size. Rachel took a ride with her friend. She didn't say anything, too intent on restraint. Brody entered a deserted parking lot where Rachel jumped out of the car and put her hand on the asphalt. Then she relaxed and let the energy flow through the body, causing a small earthquake and a circular crack in the asphalt.
"Filling better?" Brody ran his hand over Rachel's back.
"Very much..."
"Let's get out of here, okay?" Rachel nodded and got into Brody's car. "Would you like something to eat? You can spend the night at home if you want."
"It is not alright. I'd rather go to my apartment."
The apartment in question was a tiny room with bathroom on the outskirts of the city. It was what she could pay with her salary in a city whose cost of living was double that of her hometown. Rachel said good-bye to Brody, went upstairs, and unlocked the three locks of the apartment. She sighed as she entered the small space that, no matter how much Rachel worked on, it never seemed clean. She sat on the sprung bed and threw her body back. It wasn't that her career wasn't working, after all, she had a roof and was able to feed herself, besides working in a company with a certain visibility. But at what price?
Rachel looked at the cell phone and saw the repercussions of the last action of the vigilantes. Someone took a picture of Santana running between the cars. The black uniform concealed the perfect body and handsome face that Rachel had the chance to stroke and kiss. She missed that vigilante in particular. She missed the old town. She looked once more at the environment she was in and sighed. She wanted to go back, but in no way would she like to come back as a failure. She needed a plan, or rather a good excuse.
...
Music: Quando a Polícia Chegar, by Autoramas
(1) "I hate Monday/ I don't like Tuesday/ I improve on Wednesday/ I smile on Thursday/ I laugh on Friday/ I go up on the table/ and start dancing/ and I'm just going to stop/ when the police arrive."
Music: A Maldição do Samba, by Marcelo D2
(2) "Wanna Dance? Wanna Dance? Then prepares yourself/ The curse struck, sambou, never again to / And it's in the face, the root is stuck in the ground / From the trunk to the fruit with the cannabinol making the connection / And good blood, I said, good blood..."