In March of 2009, Baby had just flown cross-country from visiting her sister in Seattle, bringing a rubbing of Jimi Hendrix's headstone, and a nice chunk of hash which she had tucked into a private place available only to ladies.  While she and I were upstairs at the farm enjoying some quality time, our then host, Ray, pocketed the hash.  Naturally she went nuts thinking she had simply lost it, and finally left the farm to return home.  Ray proudly produced the hash.  I told him I was gonna tell Baby he had it so she wouldn't feel like an incompetent nutjob.  To my question "what should I say when she asks why you did it" he said "I wanted to take something from her that she couldn't stop me from doing.  I've given her more than $2,000 worth of cocaine and never gotten so much as a blow job."  On the same occasion, I learned that the antiques liberally scattered throughout the farmhouse were pilfered from customers of his painting business, and in response to my raised eyebrows he smiled and introduced himself as "klepto Ray".  A real piece of work, as the saying goes.  I was so pissed, that I wrote this song and told Ray I was gonna make him famous singing it throughout the county.  The subsequent bad blood between me and Ray festered till August, when I  took away the farm, but that's another story.