Whisky Waltz

[Hook: Jonny October]
Don't drink that, you dingbat
You're plenty fucked up
Your syntax is muddy, it's slush
You're bloody useless
Buddy you'd blush
It used to be funny
It's no longer funny to us

[Verse 1: Jonny October]
Long butter-butterscotch on the rocks
Somebody better talk to the cops
Dummy done threw one or two
Too many brews through his chewy chops
Cruise on the set
Dude I'm a vet
It's cool let me wreck
Puke, not just booze on your breath
Lace up your shoes, um, and step
So officer, corrupt he
Corruptly, on my nuts, be
Illegally rummaging through my couple things
For some Dutchies
No crack (Nope) no sack (Nope)
Just butt-cheese in fact
But I got unlucky
Cause Jack had to have an acid flashback
(The fucking Gestapo!)
Stop no, it's a cop bro
Shut your yop-hole, 'fore they spot those
Sticky little twisted Phillie Sixers [?]
Busy sticking out your sock-folds
Octo' is an upstanding citizen
Fuzz, he buzzed off the officers
With such fancy synonyms
Even sin like sweet cinnamon
Drink Guinness for strength
Drink Guinness for vitamins
Buddy better get a ride home
Cause his eyes don't focus
Like an old dusty Kodak with no cap
But it go bust [?]
Like mugshots and such
Like cumshots on sluts
More like Honey's mad young
And like umm, stop don't touch
God, you're a dickhead
And addicted
To a liquid
Better hit bed or admit dead
Is the next step on your sick quest
Yes, yes, yes

[Hook]

[Verse 2: Jonny October]
Hung-over morning eyes bloodshot
No motion but the ride don't stop
Tongue cotton, from the concoction
Of the rum, coughing up a lung
Go hock - patooey
I truly feel woozy
There's no one next to me
But I'd swear I was roofied
Man, what a damn nocturne
It's sad but I can-not learn
Lie flat among trashcans
Last chances and rot-worms
I'm thirsty, I'm blind
Not quite conscious on all fours
I search for my mind all my thoughts are like foghorns
(Errr) - In the distance
And I inference that I'm gonna pity my existence
When the binge lifts
My constituent's gonna litigate and make an inquest
'Till I confess that my sins test
The limits of their better interests
The grim threat of impending
In-depth discussions of the come-up
In substances abused
Like the booze and the trust of my dudes
Bucking whose luck could keep producing brews [?]
Such a lethal game of roulette
That I'm not doomed yet, a bufoon
Yes I'll cocoon, and emerge
Freshen up my tune
Lesson learned I'm birthed anew
Sex and drugs and curses too
I'll bid you a curt adieu
I'll do like the clergy do
Work I'm not allergic to
Persevere, I'll nurse a beer
Like 'Mercy dear, let's turn in, boo'