There’s a Jack man, tossin’ Jack back,
Swillin’ in a damp neighborhood.
He’s a got a liquor taste, and he goes at it hard;
When he gets wasted, he gets wasted good.
He’s got a woman, always bitchin’,
Screamin’ at him to please stop.
And she looks at him and says, snarling:
“It’s half past seven! Time for another pop?!”

You see, he’s an alcoholic; a drinking spree
For an alcoholic can make him see things that’s crazy.
And this alcoholic screams: “Keep them from me!!”
Little pink mouses, what he can see.

He is a drunk man; a G&T squirts
Into his mouth—a “skol!” libation.
He’s got Seagram’s fare, see ’im smile;
He says: “Pour myself some medication.”
Takes a toll; he is getting drunker.
Boy! He’ll be into tremens sent
Nonetheless, he takes a belt; the Old Fashioned streams
In this old tenement.

Oh, and it isn’t elephants that he can see,
It isn’t elephants—it’s what make ’em flee. . .scary,
It isn’t elephants that drive him batty—
Little pink mouses, what he can see.

Well, he’ll tipple and more tipple—
Gotta taste, Skol, Rhône, Old [Granddad].
Hangs around with some high guys. . .
Drink libations agave. . .gulp of Mexico,
Ah, ¡sí!
Yeah, they’re drinkers and they’re boozers—
Antabuse their pill.
He’s a tippling man, tastin’—maybe he spills
He’s ill when he fills with swill.

You see, he’s an alcoholic; drinking freely
For an alcoholic can make him see things that ain’t real.
And this alcoholic screams: “Keep them from me!!”
Little pink mouses pique, squeak, and squeal.