Drunken Life
Drunken Life
I wake up on a Sunday Morning
To the sound of cars horning
Smelling of booze
And a particular ooze
No wash, no breakfast, no amount of food
Can put me in my desired frame of mood
All dressed
From yesterdays mess
I am ready to visit my favourite spot
This is where I once fought
A pub with loads of alcohol
Where I can stand up all mighty and tall
Six pints of lager
And I stagger
But hold on it is not yet over
For I am in Dover in my Rover
Prepared for a sleepover from any type of hangover
I am now boarding a ferry
As I am high and merry
To Calais a land of gold
For the old and bold so I am told
I am hoping to smuggle without a fine
6 cartons of cigarettes and 6 cartons of wine
This is the life of a sadistic drunk
It’s quite a contrast from that of a monk
6 shots of spirits
And I am ready to vomit
So I sit while I take out my kit
A special small emergency bucket
So I can pour out my juices like a rocket
People in the city
Look at me and feel pity
As I beg for change
What a shame at my age
I still want more
For this body is hardcore
This is the life of a sadistic drunk
It’s quite a contrast from that of a monk
With a bottle of beer in one hand
I wave it around like a magic wand
My head is spinning
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poem by Sylvia Chidi
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