Pinot, sweet grape,
But it requires just the right weather.
Gamay Beaujolais,
They're Burgundian.
And so, I'm runnin' to the store, wet sweat glands--
Gotta stop the shakin' in my hands.
Find a blend that's ruby red; I abjure white
And then I put my hands around the bottle,
Guzzle it right down--
Cares float away. I'm drinkin' a Rhône now,
The bouquet's minerally and the mouthfeel's round.
I'm drinkin' a Rhône now,
I pound down a magnum and fall to the ground.

When I awake
I'm goldarn dry and I'm blue 'n'
I have got the shakes,
So what do I do?
I start to stumble toward the store, but my pants
Are devoid of cash, so start my rants.
I implore the store owner, "I'll pay you right
After I get my hands onto some gelt; I'll come and lay it down!"
But then he says, "I'm givin' no loans now;
You're debt's eatin' me up; your credit's unsound.
I'm givin' no loans now.
You deadbeats have gotta stop coming around!"

[Sound of winos being booted out the door]

He's givin' no loans, now.
No more Rhône appellation to be found.
I stink and I groan, now. . .
I'm in the alley and ralphin' on the ground.
I'm drinkin' no Rhône, now;
Unallayed DTs start; mirages abound. . . .