Drenched: wine jets glommed from a spoutin’;
you know where it all will go—
Straight down to mingle with my liver,
booze I gulp up; let it flow.
I’ll take Chartreuse, be hammered.
Spit-up messy hurl, a glaucous hue.
Cheeks rosy, got some bloodshot eyes…
drink up anything in my purview.

Drunkard’s tipplin’ streak, on bender,
gotta take a leak—remember
men’s room…quickly seek; out comes my gender.
A drunkard’s stream if I ever did pee one.

Drunken tipples pique some members
of my little clique, who render
terms of pure critique…with words dismember
the drunkard teams of which I surely be one.

Wormwood for my tummy—
off to taste ’jack I did go;
also score Black Horse and gin,
and I’d get me some Brothers and Sloe.
The odds were that I’d savor
it all; by 5:00 be done.
Some might nag that gin takes you down the track
sure enough leads to rum.

“Mustn’t tipple!” speaks the rev’rend—
digitally seeks a revved one.
For him, hornly week; he tries to clench ’em.
A punch to teeth, then his lechery be done.

I took a cup and dripped in it
Beaujolais that’s best to quaff
before it sucks and ruined is the taste—
stuff’s corked; I’ll pass.
Pumped many drinks down piehole wide, whirled
because I sure had to pee.
I piddled then for sure, floor’s brined…
zipped my pole up and did flee.

Drunken piddle creek, I’d wettened
the floor with my leak’s strong jettin’.
Now the floorboards creak—new ones, must get ’em.
I must have streamed more than had ever been done.

Ow! Me and my mate blacked out on Arak;
we’d had spiced Rhône on the rocks.
She said, “I can't stand those flavored drinks—
it’s like gluggin’ beer with pox.”
Non-cru crud made her start to sob;
she was bobbin’ on her feet.
And I swore (actually, just pure bull):
“That bevy crap is sweet!”

Drunken tipple freak, ingestin’
junk that's triple sweet; investin’
in pumpin’ this treat to my intestine—
A drunkard's dream if I ever sipped sweet Nun.

Now I have chugged stout in California;
drams o’ port and beer that’s cold.
But I’m swiggin’ on a clone
that’s messed up—isn’t mold!
So I’ll express, cough up Phylloxera,
return to extollin’ gin.
I now can't keep down red wines, exceptin’
That gloriously peppery Zin.

Drunken tipple freak, ingestin’
jug junk, far from weak; investin’
in pumpin’ this treat to my intestine—
A drunkard's dream…ripped whenever I bleed tuns.

Crumbled metal creaks—my fender’s
ripped up…pretty bleak…rear-ender.
This just ain’t my week…need a bail-lender.
So drunk was me, my road-trippin’ days be done.

[fade on drunken sobbing]