I used to drink generic beer. It gave me a poor man’s hangover.
I had a generic life and a never-ending poor man’s hangover.
I lived on coffee and aspirin and my factory shifts lasted forever.
I used to hound any honey who would give me her digits.
I’d hound the dingiest barroom pickup once I had her digits.
I’d be her sweet pet or a pest until I got in her britches.
Now I’ve found a stronger brew and the worst hangovers ever.
I’m downing rich man’s brew, getting the worst hangovers ever.
I never thought I’d taste such cold beer, so smooth, with such flavor.
And I’ve found a nice woman who made me forget all the others.
She’s a long-haired brunette, made me forget my old lovers.
First she gave me a son. Next comes his sister or brother.
When my wife smiles at me, I feel drunk in ways that aren’t generic.
When she scowls, I want to die, leave these bones for our kids to inherit.