Lyrics

(Verse 1 - Alex Silas)
My grandfather was the wisest man who ever lived.
He once said:
“You can take the rust off the car with soda,
be it pepsi or coca cola,
but you can’t with whiskey or beer”
So, Cheers.
Truth is,
he was an alcoholic.
Not to get off topic
and get all melodramatic
when this is supposed to be melodic
but see,
Do Re Mi,
trying to find the right key
to unlock these skeletons in our closets,
cause we all have demons,
plotting diabolical obstacles and these fiendish demons and skeletons might seem the size of dinosaurs but really they’re fossils,
ancient history.
But see, my grandpa,
he was the strongest man living.
I remember trips where we would go ice fishing.
He showed me how to throw a ball and hold a bat,
I was bad at it, he said,
“Alex, keep swinging.”
And as a matter of fact, he beat alcoholism,
but its still what killed him.
And that had me thinking, swimming in my thoughts, but swimming in this dark liquid that I’m sippin',
and shit should I just quit drinkin?
Cause this shit…
This killed my grandpa,
mon pépère,
and fuck do I ever miss him.
But still,
distill my dispiritedness with spirits from the distillery, and spirits be still,
let’s keep it real.
Nobody lives forever, you gotta die from something.
And I’d rather die with a wino’s twinkle in my eye,
than of fuckin' old age or something.

(Verse 2 - Shaun Sullivan)
I’m an abider of the bar rules,
it’s the 2 seat gap between any patron kind of bar stools
where I sit and give bar tender to my bartender
with hopes that this bender
makes me remember how to no remember.
They say memory is a strange thing,
and I think I the same thing.
Same day ends the same way,
get home and pour the same drink.
Yet I never took the time to stop and think
about how this habit spawns addicts
yet each night I’m back at it,
a fifth of jack I jacked
stashed in my jacket
mixed in a flask engraved closed casket.
Straight swigging
wanderin the streets
thinkin when the bottle ends is where ends meet.
Drunken thoughts kill,
a heavy heart and light headed mentality,
but to be stone cold sober
how fucked up that’d be.

(Verse 3 - SIlas & Sully)
How sweetly this whiskey sips,
how distinct the sound of the clink,
drownin in hits,
siftin through memory clips,
full moon eclipse, my mother’s son,
there’s no light come the last drip.
A habit I can’t kick, alcoholic soccer,
on the rocks, off my rocker,
drop shots droppin
drop me off at the doctor,
last call last offer,
how long will I last?
Half past the half glass of Black Walker.
Walkin backwards wobblin’
and talkin smack, gobblin.
Got God awful habits
I had honour, I lost it.
I’ll get back to it afterwards.
After….
Word…
But I don’t know what I’m after.

Like protractors to angles
I never come full circle.
Started off Urquelle and ended up Urkel.
2 personalities who personally wanna hurt you,
Vigourously verifying vendettas, victory over valuing virtue.
A vagrant, vacant, vague view,
In Vino Veritas, in verses too.
Purposes postponed, probably poundin pints,
A porpoise plunging in a pool of patron and lime
Tequila tasting terribly terrific,
tongue tied time after time.
Terrifically terrible, tipsily talkin
to this titillating thing,
tisk tisk,
bet ten out of ten
she’s a dime.

Sadistic stares shootin shame,
A simple sonnet,
soliliquizing substance abuse,
surface from slumber soaked in spew stains.
But suffice to say,
there’s a price to pay
to live life at night,
no sight for the light of day.
And like they say,
A drunken mind speaks a sober heart,
and if life imitates art,
then the mistakes I’ve made
are inspiration for bars.
Reflections of myself in the mirrors at bars,
understand what I really am
but try not to take it so hard.
I’m as much a part of the atmosphere
as the paintings on the wall,
ignoring the girlfriends calls,
three sheets to the breeze til I fall
off the bar stool, a fool,
following bar rules, off the wagon,
I fell,
often bragging bout shots at last call,
attitude uncalled for but fuck it,
blame it on the alcohol.
And now that’s a worse problem than the habit itself,
write a book of drunk regrets and leave it on the shelf,
self preserve self worth knowin I’m hurtin myself.
Self health? Nah, I medicate through self help.
But my other self is selfish,
my evil alter ego.
Ask Dr. Jekyll,
he knows.
People form torn jeans to tuxedos,
need a placebo,
to ease the misery and woe,
but fuck it,
Cheers amigo.