I make my move late at night—I turn the spigot on:
Water from the siphon surges till the cube is gone.

Down a few, I’m layin’ on my back—out,
Down a few, I’m layin’ on my back—gone.
My booze be absinthe, yeah, absinthe, yeah.

It’s thujone-y and trouble; it’s infused with wormwood,
And wormwood has the power to make you act no good.

Down a few, I’m layin’ down and slack—out,
Down a few, I’m layin’ on back, slack—gone.
My booze be absinthe, yeah, absinthe, yeah.
Down a few, my gray matter is wracked—out,
Down a few, my gray matter is sacked—gone.
My booze be absinthe, yeah, absinthe, yeah.

I make my move at midnight—I turn the spigot on;
Water from the “siphon” surges, but my aim is gone.

What ’m I doin’ sprayin’ floor like that? Spout.
What ’m I doin’ floodin’ floor like that? Grout!!
My sluice be absinthe, yeah
My juice be splashin’, yeah.
My Sue be angry, yeah
My Sue be bashin’. . .out.