Just a sherry at Christmas
Or your liver in a sling
Maybe one o them
For whom
Abstinence is the thing
We spread across the boozey map
In all the directions there are
Negotiate the contours
As we head toward the bar
Some move to the desert
Where there barely falls a drop
Some might as well live in the ocean
The soak that never stops
Some imbibe for giggles
Others to ward off life
To many it's a form of marriage
The sauce she is my wife
Wether slightly buzzed
And connected
Or too arseholed to think
We see the city on the hill
As where we go to drink.
