I think that I have never seen a love like yours with old Jim Beam.
If you could feel such love for peeps, you wouldn’t seem like such a creep
but as it is, you’re just a drunk, and so your life seems solely sunk.

You could try twelve-stepping your way out of this,
but haven’t you walked that path a dozen times before?
Maybe there’s some other potion you could drink
that could get you off of that first potion you can’t stop drinking?
I’m just spitballing, trying to come up with solutions,
working outside of the box that you’re seemingly stuck in.

There’s gotta be a way. Maybe there’s a way.

I wish that you could find a way. A strategy, something to say
that could make rise a magic spell from which you would come back all well.
But currently, you’re still a drunk, a punk, who stunk of skunk and junk.

Keep working. Keep trying. Maybe you’ll get over bourbon eventually.
Maybe you’ll get bored of it someday. Maybe you’ll age out of it.
Possibly, in your forties, you’ll be too mature for it. Let’s see.
Maybe your fifties, then! There’s always time. There’s always hope!
Keep fighting the good fight. It’s the right thing to do.

Be a good one, full of cheer. Blow the candles, once a year.
I know that you are fine enough to expel all the bad stuff.
Just stop being a sad drunk so you can live life like a monk.