Bottoms up, bottoms up,
Drunkie gonna gulp juice down.

He’s napping post-a nip, got a load inside—
Booze-fueled snorts: brandy and a Side’.
He’s a hooch-injected king, raised up a core dirt team.
Bev’rage is the engine that makes his tears stream.

Bottoms up, bottoms up,
Drunkie gonna slug hooch down.

Inclinin’ tumbler steamin’ toward his face;
When he is out, drunk, orange by red’s replaced.
On Stingers he’s tight, his head is startin’ to spin,
Then the core dirt team’s really diggin’ in.

Gotta not drool, now; power-drip tears may flow.

Vermouth, Stock, part’s a whisper, spritzed in Skol;
When the booze-ingesting king makes Martinis, olives roll.
To get inaction, he’s bibin’ too much.
His pressured pate’s burnin’ and courage is Dutch.

[secs Skol-o)

Steady on the floor? Not with dual-quad drinks,
And after snort 13, pachyderms turnin’ pink.
He’s blotto: Dramb’ induction. . .can’t be understood:
His booze-inflected elocution isn’t soundin’ too good.

Bottoms up, bottoms up,
Drunkie gonna gulp booze down.
Bottoms up, bottoms up,
Drunkie gonna slug hooch down.
Bottoms up, bottoms up,
Drunkie gonna tumble down.
Bottoms up, bottoms up,
Drunkie in a schmutz-funk town.