Hard clad in whiskey’s rotten wear,
all liquored up to curse and swear.
Who’ll hear me out, a drunkard’s tale,
of some old bastard out on bail.
A life of nowt but loss and ill,
of those I hurt, who haunt me still.
My drunken fits, the harm I’ve done,
to squander that which dearly won.
A coulda-been, a yester-man,
when I was cool, a Dapper Dan.
I hit the town, I hit the booze
and lost whatever I could lose.
Of those I’ve loved but now ill met
and frowned upon lest I forget.
If I could just but start anew,
but ifs and buts won’t get you through.
I’m fuckin’ lost, well, who’s to blame
when every bottle bears my name.
Well, them’s the breaks, the burden’s mine,
I hit the deck time after time.
And still you’ll find me where I fell,
some brothel, dive or prison cell.
Another dram to drown the past
and many more to make it last.
Hard clad and whiskied into debt,
the hooch and I, the last duet.