REFRAIN:
Hey, Mr. Tanqueray Man, play a psych to me,
I get weepy when I'm in your place and gettin' stewed.
Hey, Mr. Tanqueray Man, pour a drink for me.
In gin-hell hangover mornin', I'll come callin' on you.

You know evenings I am buying, martini in my hand,
With my favorite brand.
Blindly drunk, I start to ramble, then I'm weeping.
My bleariness then dazes me; I can't stand on my feet,
You tell me I should eat,
But some ancient mystery meat's all you're feedin'.

REFRAIN

Now I spray stray spit from my maw's salivating lip,
As I relay a quip, while I take a dripped nip,
I'm talking like a sales rep,
You say, "Abate all that boob-spiel; you're maunderin'!"
Unsteadily I drink some hair of dog, mixed with limeade.
I'm running a charade; cast a spell, but now it's frayed.
I promise; folks aren't buyin' it.

REFRAIN

Though you see me laughin', grinnin', shillin' madly for the dumb one.
I have never aimed a gun, but I send the daughters and sons
Over there to die--young men and women wastin'.
And then you hear me gracin' the press with my Zen-like rhymes
Just after Tanqueray time. (Citrus is flaggin'; where's the limes?)
By then I'm just brayin' rote lines; they're just a shadow of
The truth that no one's facing

REFRAIN

Please make them disappear, all the voices in my mind,
With their epithets unkind. Oh, can't you make them leave?
They haunt and frighten me. The gin helps me beseech
You to tell me I'm not crazy, just harrowed.
Yet I dandle on my thigh your wife, whose legs are swingin' free,
Stiletto heels stick in me; surgical sutures are planned.
And given my present state, commit papers should be waived.
Their assessment of sanity is rather narrow.

Hey, Mr. Tanqueray man, your old friend Rummy.
I can't sleep because of everything I'm going through.
Hey, Mr. Tanqueray man, I am a rummy.
In gin-hell hangover mornin', I'll come callin' on you.