Time, time, time, it means nothing to me;
I look at the ground, and a cinder track I see.
I am here at my ease.

I’m looking down
where the line’s found,
I don’t try; I’m a lazy, hazy sprinter.

I don’t care if I’m first or last.
Down there is winner’s pride…
not gonna sprint, I’m gonna glide,
like kicking the can…
the coach sure is not my fan.

I’m looking down
where the line’s found,
it’s no lie: I’m a lazy, hazy sprinter.

Slowly I will lope to the end.
At best I will just sashay;
all my foes will pass me today…
get to the end as I don’t even pretend.

I look down,
the others fly
I’d smoked a pipe
in the locker room, alight.

Some reasons for my languid ’tude spree;
keeping time’s lassitude to me.
I might stop if I bash my knee.
Running’s not really my trip;
I would rather a booze glass grip.
I’ve taken a shine
sometimes to vodka and lime.

I’m falling down—me on ground, ow!
I won’t cry once I’ve tasted booze for drinkin’.

Royal Crown
helps me drown
my mishaps, falling to the ground.

Royal Crown
brings me down
to the slats of flooring dark brown.

While I’m down
I will pound
down absinthe to bring me around.

Gulp!