Why buy the cheapest whiskey

But drink the fanciest wine?

Why such a fake mystery?

Is this gourmet life?

Whiskey you drink at home alone,

The wine is at a restaurant.

So maybe that’s why, maybe that’s why

But that would be an easy answer,

So maybe that’s not why, maybe that’s not why…

Is it just for show?

Or maybe its just the taste of glue?

Maybe you like the taste of glue

Pouring down your throat?

Pouring down your throat,

Burning your lungs,

Burning your stomach,

Burning your soul.

Hmm, tasty glue.

Maybe I’m wrong, maybe I’m wrong…

Maybe you actually acquired the taste of a sommelier.

Maybe you actually fancy that wine.

How could I know for sure?

I only see you everyday, except the weekends, of course.

From Monday to Friday

I look at your fucking face and I wonder…

I wonder what did you drink this past sunday?

But you can’t really know someone like this,

From Monday to Friday.

You only reserve the weekends to those close to you,

The ones you really want to

And I don’t want you.

So keep your fucking whiskey,

Your bottles of fancy cheap wine,

Keep them. Away from me. Away from me.