Cook-a-doodle-doo,
the rooster crows
And off his
bed, he already arose
In haste, he
leaves the door ajar
For there is
much pleasure at the bar
To him, nothing
really matters
But his
craving for the colored waters
He says his usual prayer
As he calls
on the waiter;
“ Wine is
for the weak,
For it has
all the answers we seek;
Let us drink
here,
For heaven has no beer!
Serve me
beer for breakfast
to rinse my
stomach off dust”
He rounds the night up with gin and whisky
And lay by the drains when tipsy
His sons
then bear the plight
As they
search for daddy in the night
Unfortunately,
one cannot change family
So they
preach to him the homily
“We all lost
something when mama died
Yeah, it was
hard but we tried
Drunkenness
is never the way
It only
pushes mama’s spirit away!”
They would
watch him with scorn and disdain
Hoping he
would someday refrain
His life was
once straight and clean
Until he
lost his wife, Irene!!!
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