You have a cup of beer in your hands.
You say things that I don’t mind.
You’re going to drink until your last breath.
You’re going to drink until you die.
You lay on the floor at night.
Alcohol will make you survive.
I know your grandpa met death.
You don’t know why and you don’t know here.
Now you want to party with some pretty angel.
But all we need from you is something special.
Vodka.
Champagne.
Whiskey.
You want another drink.
“Get me drunky!”
Beer.
Sake.
Wine.
You’re an alcoholic.
“Drink me lovingly!”
Cigarettes.
Red wine.
Don’t worry, everything is fine.
I want another drink.
You say: “So do I.”
I’m okay, as long as you’re mine.
You’re an alcoholic.
You’re in love.
Alcoholically.
