Had a little bit to drink
There’s a little thing I want at a do out East
Nothing too emotional, my good miss
I couldn’t be serious in a room full of jack-knife eyes
Stop talking ’bout the years — you sound like Louis Burdett
And we roll on to my backshed, play some poker, scratch my head
Look at the sky and spot the planes, where would I go on holidays?
Roll with the punches, down the aisles, and down the street the weeks roll by
I’m chewing ice and grinning, I’m spewing up and spinning
It’s billiousness as usual in my corner of the kitchen
Hey you, lose that friend before we go anywhere
What? Someone might see you alone?
Stop bagging out the band, you sound like Louis Burdett
All my friends are fuck-ups but they’re fun to have around
Banana chairs out on the concrete, telling stories to the stars
How Gemini’s love Wooden Dragons, and how down the street the weeks roll by
The moment the night wears off, the bombsite reappears
They’re all asleep but the morning tastes like wine
It tastes like wine in Tempe
