You look like a wino. . .
Leap to the rosé with speed.
You don't love the vaunted grape.
You taunt it for its seed.
You're always lookin' for a drunk
On wine that's cheap and sweet and strong.
You elect to swill confect goo--
Never knew that it was wrong
To cause your glycemic index to soar.
But it ain't mead, babe,
No, no, no, it ain't mead*, babe,
It ain't mead I'm gonna pour, babe.

I'll pour a light beverage, babe,
Whose Brix* is quite far down.
It came out of my vault, babe,
The flavor's full and round.
You're always lookin' for a drunk
On cold duck you buy at K-Mart.
If there's a sale, you will buy two
Cases, and then you'll start
To imbibe big glasses by the score.
But it ain't mead, babe,
No, no, no, it ain't mead, babe,
It ain't mead I'm gonna pour, babe.

Take a belt and get tight, babe,
Rotgut in your insides gets you stoned.
But with me, you are movin'
To Chardonnay, Pinot, or Rhône.
The sweet stuff always gets you drunk,
But you get sick and that's not all.
You flood the flowers constantly
With your penile waterfall.
You call me "honey," hoping you can score.
But it ain't mead, babe,
No, no, no, it ain't mead, babe,
It ain't mead I'm gonna pour, babe.