The Case Of The Drunkard

Half eleven in the morning he enters
Red-faced with a tingling in his dentures
Takes a seat centre-stage at the bar
‘Where is the barmaid? She can’t be far.’

Hands shaking from a few hours detox
He got home last night and threw up in his Reeboks
Ah, here's the barmaid - the one with the chest!
To pour him a drink - the first’s always the best.

So this is his story - he’s so happy to tell
Anyone that will listen of his personal hell
His addiction has cost him his daughter and wife
Last month they left and walked out of his life.

His money is fading, how long will it last?
He’s been living in squalor for three weeks past
And still he knocks back the cure for his fears
In the shape of distilled spirits and beers.

He's spilled it, killed it, he can’t re-build it!
So out came another three coins, he re-filled it.
And as time progresses the conversation gets worse
He can’t form sentences or pronounce simple words.

Now he starts to offend anyone that he may
Even the manager, because it turns out he’s gay!
The barmaids he pesters are all looking so fine
But so would your grandmother after eight or nine.

Now usually he is not prone to swear
But you should hear him tonight, he doesn't care!
Now he’s on auto, his brain dead on it’s feet
His lips and his tongue are now so indiscreet.

Last he got in to a terrible fight
And got his ass kicked for the third time tonight
Now you may laugh at this guy addicted like meth
But he’s just another tragedy - drinking to death.