When I go out, I head down to where
I can buy some rounds.
Many years ago, I’d have a Ballentine.
But now that ale I cannot find.

I never stop at just two or three;
I’ll always have more.
And then a pee’s due; that means a flee to
find the men’s room door.

I go, then I’m through.
Back to my primal urge…
have another brew.

Then on to brandy and other booze—
number 5 I’m on.
I’m a tippling belter down of gin and rye.
Soon you’ll see that red is each eye.
I beg your pardon before I speed
to the men’s once more.

Another pee’s due; after, I flee to
guzzle down the stores.

Gettin’ drunker, and I’ve spent a lot o’
dough with which I buy many shots and beers.
It’s no way to save.
Feel wobbly in the knees…
near ready to cave.

First I’m blowhard, and then I cry:
Eyes are rimed with dew.
Can’t state things precisely—there is just no way.
Incoherently I just bray.

I am in bad shape, out of the norm;
I’m a drunken bore.
Another pee’s due; can’t speed to the loo.
Then I hit the floor.