I got too drunk upon gin;
I got stewed deep in a party spree.
My need for booze started back when I was hardly three.
I got too drunk upon gin.

Some tried to say it’s a sin,
but I disregard them each night and then go to the well.
I tell them, my ass they can kiss; I say also, go to hell!
I love to get drunk on gin.

Dry Sack on ice to me just don’t taste right,
and sake is down there with beer.
In juniper I rejoice when I’m getting tight;
ere I eat, ere I eat, I toast “Cheers!”
I s’ppose I’m Old School, ’cause I’m giving in
to palled reality that some call venality.
They think I’m loose a screw for the quaffing I do;
they warn: “Stop, don’t quench, have din-din!”
But I’ve got to plunder my gin.

Dry Sack on ice to me just don’t taste nice,
and sake is lower than beer.
In juniper I rejoice, my dendrites getting spliced;
ere I eat, rarely eat, I toast “Cheers!”
I s’ppose I’m Old School, ’cause I’m giving in
to all reality; that some call venality. . .
think a bruising is due for the boozing I do;
they warn: “Stop, don’t quench, take a spin!”
But I’ve got to plunder my gin.

’cause I like to get drunk on gin.