There’s a lot to be saved if for drinking supper;
cycle all those liquids as if you’re human scupper.

Give me one more beer, dear bartender.
I’m still a few away from being on a bender.
When I start to ask for whiskey, that’s a sign I’m getting frisky,
and it’s best if you return me to sender.

I would live in a bar and become a drunk star.
I would detail my antics on line.
I’d abandon my house and then total my car.
Every night I’d mix whiskey with wine.

There’s a lot to be saved by drinking supper;
cycle them damn liquids around like a human scupper.

A man might dedicate his life to alcohol.
And his friends might tell him that he’s headed for a fall.
But what’s the sense of living your life up against the wall?
The great god of fermentation has provided me my call.

I am loved in liquor stores and cabarets.
My life is interrupted frequently by short jail stays.
I often see the world as nothing but a bottle maze.
But I’m much to old to change my sippin’ ways.

There’s a lot to be said for drinking supper;
run them liquids in and out just like a human scupper.