Rye Whiskey, Rye Whiskey
Snug in the corner I saw the lad lie,
Fire in his belly and a cork in his eye;
Wordlessly sleeping, a-snooze in his bed,
His words, when awakened, go straight to your head.
Alluring to look at, golden is he,
There when you need him as sure as can be;
Anxious to aid you, he doesn't think twice,
For the cost of his concert your soul is the price.
Then tell him to go now, bid him goodbye;
Allow him to slumber, let sleeping dogs lie!
Tell him his concord you are shooing away,
The lad with the nostrum may no longer stay.
Time he was leaving, show him the door!
A flagon of whiskey a-smash on the floor.