Here we have the pseudo intellectual spouting beer soaked slurs again, flailing his arms carelessly; one more stutter and they might fire.
He says a phrase in a gregarious setting and hells eyes shine back.
So he removes himself from the awkward air to kiss the girls.
He starts to believe his is god
He starts to believe he is drunk;
It’s becoming hard to say his words straight
In the same purity of talking with a live coal on your tongue.
So he finishes his evening passed out with a beer in hand
Spilling his visions of drunken ecstasy
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