In Praise of Alcohol

Of vintage wine I am a lover;

To drink deep would be my delight;

If 'twere not for the bleak hangover

I'd get loaded every night

I'd whoop it up with song and laughter

whoop it up with song and laughter

whoop it up with song and laughter

If 'twere not for the morning after.

For though to soberness I'm given

It is a thought I've often thunk:

The closest thing on Earth to heaven

Is to get sublimely drunk;

Is to achieve divine elation

Is to achieve divine elation

Is to achieve divine elation

By means of generous libation.

Alas, the wine-cups claim their payment

And as the price is often pain,

If we could know what morning grey meant

We never would get soused again;

Rather than buy a hob-nailed liver

Rather than buy a hob-nailed liver

Rather than buy a hob-nailed liver

I'm sure that we'd abstain for ever.

Yet how I love the glow of liquor,

As joyfully I drunk it up!

Hoping that unto life's last flicker

With praise I'll raise the ruby cup;

So let me like a jolly monk

So let me like a jolly monk

So let me like a jolly monk

Proceed to get sublimely drunk.