Bad Old Days

Bad old days come around
Can you hear that bastard pound
On the wall of his tomb
As he cries his lonesome tune

All this nectar has left me a specter
Of the man I’d like to be
And I feel shitty
But all this self pity
Don’t make a martyr out of me

I’ve got a gun in one hand and a bottle in the other
And I’m trying to keep straight which one goes in my mouth
I packed my shit for a unicycle trip
And I need someone to point me south
I sweat and I slip and I lost my grip
And I swear I’m gonna change my ways
But I take a pint when I take a sip
And I’m headed for the bad old days

Sad old place
Still pool where I
Tried to drown
But did not die
Now I return
Your jealous friend
To thrust my weight
In you again