The Dipsomaniac
by Duncan Gillies MacLaurin
I was hung over all over; I needed some rest —
the evening before had been one of the best —
when all of a sudden my body went numb;
I fell to my knees; I was blind, deaf and dumb.
I thought I’d met my Maker;
I thought my time had come.
I fell to my knees; I was blind, deaf and dumb.
I swore from that moment I’d give up the booze —
as far as I saw it, I’d nothing to lose.
But when I’d recovered my senses, I knew:
A man’s got to do what a man’s got to do.
I went and found a bottle
and had a drink or two:
for a man’s got to do what a man’s got to do.
The following day I was taken much worse;
this time I was certain I’d booked my own hearse.
I mended, repented, said: Never again!
Till they told me that I was the toast of the glen.
I’d started on the wagon
but tumbled off it when
they told me that I was the toast of the glen.
My doctor was worried my liver would fail;
my heart was arrhythmic; my kidneys were frail.
I went to a clinic, dried out for a while,
but when I got out I got plastered in style.
They gave me these addresses
with numbers I should dial.
I threw them away and got plastered in style.
The stroke came one Sunday at quarter to three;
I’ve lost both my legs, and I’m strictly TT.
I’m stuck in this wheelchair, plugged into the mains,
and I suffer the most unbelievable pains.
What I thought would bring me freedom
has put me in these chains;
and I suffer the most unbelievable pains.
Now all of my friends have forgotten I’m here.
Afraid that it’s catching, they daren’t come near.
I’m haunted by memories and can’t help but think:
It’s such a long time since I’ve had a good drink!
Just a wee malt whisky
to put me in the pink.
It’s such a long time since I’ve had a good drink!
Last Tuesday my auntie came round for a chat.
I told her my problem. She said: “Fancy that!
Not that I thought for a moment you’d ask,
but I took the precaution of filling a flask.”
And never has a woman
performed a nobler task:
she took the precaution of filling a flask.
