I’m for sure a beer-forego,
so I hit the wine road.
But Napa costs a fortune;
Sonoma, too, requires gold.
Headed east to slake my thirst,
then up ahead of me loomed
a town: Lodi, famous for Zins.

Rode into this grape town;
to a tasting room I did go.
Through the glasses I blew,
then I was ready to score.
Pulled out a wad o’ money,
bought two cases—and then,
so gorged, I pumped down that Lodi Zin.

I’d bought too a magnum Zin…
opened it that same day.
After my short inspection,
it went the gullet way.
I glugged so much down, I could hardly stand
gams felt like caoutchouc*
So gorged…drunk in Lodi on Zin.

I’m gonna be so hungover
and smellin’ like a skunk.
A rad night but a bad day—
should not have as much drunk.
I polished off a whole case…
sorry state I’m in.
No more drunk in Lodi on Zin.


*rubber