I beg for change,
For a cheap and dark thirst quencher.
I am so broke.
Bracing as the wind blows through my seedy clothes,
Oh, I trip fall and lie on mounds of snow.
I am a sot.
I am a wino.

I've swilled malts,
From quarts both cheap and pricey,
Where bums may congregate.
I grab some sleep on benches, stenches spawn disdain.
I'm after any comfort I can claim.
I am a sot.
I am a wino.

Don't have no gloves,
So I'm sure I won't keep warm.
I'm freezing in my misery.
I probe and search the dumpsters for meager scraps inside,
And I treasure grub, whatever luck provides.
I am a sot.
I am a wino.

I have my nook,
Where I go to sleep after retching.
I hear squealing of some varmints.
Writhing until noon, waking to more gloom,
I clutch some rum an old bum chucked at me.
I am a sot.
I am a wino.

And a sot feels no shame,
And a wino's never dry.