Sell a pail-load, mate, you know my gut can sump it,
Pump right into and quench my arteries.
I’m just sipping here, eating not my strumpet;
Lips-prod miss will I later lingually.
Now, where’s a greenish-white treat for me?

Not sated with a few, I’m gonna quaff six,
Not sated with a few, soon I’ll wasted be,
Not sated with a few; ice-cold, but not frozen--that’s sick!
The daiquiri crew can have it--not for me.
Now there’s a huish-sight treat for me.

Anybody can get tight on toddies. Not this for me!
Or spin after gin. But that’s something I will not do. More lucence, please!

Well six iced ponies gone through my maw--bliss!
I’m finally delivered out of intense melancholy.
Just to sip is fine because it holds the promise
I’ll soon see hallucinatorily.
Got there a hue-my-sight treat for me.

Well you know, it makes me happy
When I’m sipping or lappin’--neither abate.
So reach up on the shelf and choose some or else
I am gonna bash your pate.

Well, guy gloms; the See’s sure bound to defrock him;
A “perverse drunkard,” he’s callin’ me.
As he is reaching for my trousers I have to sock him;
He sees a stewed sot, thinks he can cleave to me.
So there! You will not dine meat o’ me.

Watered it’s pale. . .quench with a pail load;
Though once banned, man, they couldn’t suppress it--thus drunken me.
Can’t stand Chartreuse--queer hue, the color’s yellow hale toad
That is ruin’ thoughts of falconry.
Hungering. . .bare that rouge-hue site, eat Marie.