If wishes was whiskey I might sell
a couple of barrels and save my life.
But I donít think selling an ocean
of whiskey would buy me a big enough
set of balls to get my butt out of this rut
I have reached on the remorseless
highway of life.
I have so often been kicked in
the mouth by the jack boot
of doubt. It is all I can do to keep
I have been through all of the heartaches
Pandora pulled with dripping claws
from her box. I have had the rheumatic
fever of love served to me both cold
and at the boiling point of a knife.
Now I have gone and caught the
dripping pox of begging for handouts
from zombies in corporate ties and
college kids who think It's cool to just
Well if wishes was whiskey
maybe I would be just what I am
old and mean.
But I really could use a
bottle of good Jim Beam whiskey
and a sluttish girl with a warm hart
and silky thighs would sure help
mellow me out.
Well if I canít wish
for whiskey maybe someone could
spare a sweet line of coke to numb
Maybe let me believe for a time
I can sing like John Coltrane.
If I fake it good enough this
time next month I will be sitting
In first class on an airplane drinking
champagne with my new wet dream.
I'll be on the fast train to bright lights,
fancy cars, cigar bars and money.
But the only white line I see is by the
stop sign near the highway.
I can see it from the underpass
and I canít even afford cheap grass.
Well at least I have some bad wine
an old dog, a can of beans and its
a hot night. Still the fleas bite but
I guess if I just scratch a bit itíll be
alright. The girl would be nice
better than this ole hound anyway.
Hey move over dog your drooling.