I’m quite the pick up artist,
It’s a skill of mine,
I go out to some popular bar,
And get trashed on everything but wine.
I sauce until I’m a fall down mess,
Bemoaning how my life is shit,
Wailing my sorrows into my glass,
Until the bartender is sick of it.
I’ll slur out a morbid soliloquy,
And recite drunken poetry so shitty,
Until a lady has enough,
And talks to me out of pity.
Smooth operating there.