Drink Up

Drink up, drink up, drink up

Fill your cups again and again

I’ll join you when I’m dead

I 'm not drinking until then

I filled up my dance card completely

By the time I was 45

I’d had enough fun for a lifetime

And it feels better to be alive

I quit one morning in August

Seventeen years ago

I polished off a bottle of Petrus

Clearly the right way to go

My sister drove me to rehab

On a beautiful sunny day

All I could see were the liquor ads

That lined the biilboarded way

Rehab was fun in the end

I slept well every night

I learned how to bowl and play volleyball

And found life without booze was alright

We all went to an AA meeting

Our first night in the joint

The guy who led it was a murderer

I guess that was the point

I went to meetings for 3 years

I did 90 in 90 at first

I gave it up after that though

By then I’d lost the thirst

I have a cellar of good Bordeaux

Aging in racks downstairs

Bought before I quit drinking, for show

Thought it'd be good for putting on airs

I’m thinking that when I’m 80

Those wines will be 30 years old

Just the right age to go on a date

With an old man, if he made so bold

So here’s to quitting drinking

At least until I’ve grown up

Then I can start all over again

Drink up, drink up, drink up

Slaughterhouse Cat

Generations of slaughterhouse cats

Big and nasty enough to kill rats

Were born at the end of my street

And the one I’ve got is so sweet

He’s his own son, and grandson it seems

His father's his grandfather, both the same genes

His teeth are too big for his head

And his jaw muscles fill me with dread

His coat is as sleek as a mink

He has a white shirtfront and pink

Skin under charcoal grey fur

White shoes and a rumbling purr

He’s a loving cat and true

And his full name is Boo

As in Radley after the Mockingbird

Because he’s never seen or heard

He lives in my study, never goes out

As the other cats have no doubt

He’s an intruder that must be killed

Poor Boo, he means none of them ill

His coat is as sleek as a mink

He has a white shirtfront and pink

Skin under charcoal grey fur

White shoes and a rumbling purr

The Rich Man's Internationale

Arise ye owners of the nation

Arise ye richest of the earth

Ye plutocrats thunder domination

A New World Order is in birth

No more the unions will thwart us

No more the workers they'll enthral

We celebrate the old foundations

We were all, and we are still all

This is the final conflict

It is we who must not relent

The shining New World Order

Will save the one percent