When I had seven Beams,
I was of very good cheer.
I was of very good cheer—that is, till I hurled
And got into fights.
They punched out my lights,
And then my face turned green,
When I had seven Beams.

When I had twenty rums,
I got maudlin and I teared.
I topped them off with a beer, and then spit and hurled
And fell down the stairs,
Puke perfuming my hair;
I swallowed my tongue,
When I had twenty rums.

When I had thirty pints
Of gin spiked with Everclear
I wished a doctor was near—there's blood in my hurl.
I'm gin-dependent. . .seems.
Flag down this limousine
For hospital ride,
To pump out thirty pints.

I no longer take snorts;
I am on Antabuse this year,
So I get ill each time I smell vintage wine
Or see beer kegs,
Even wine with good legs.
Now my head is clear,
I'm not at all of good cheer.