“You drink way too much” she said in her special voice.
Her voice, for preaching, and sorting me out and
Explaining that I’m a half-wit let loose on the world
Because of the stupidity of my mother and sisters.

I drink wine and whisky by the gallon
Hangovers don’t worry me I just carry on
And on
Drinking myself sober again ready for anything.

I don’t care until I’m with her mother
Who always tells me in her special voice
That I drink too much and she hates me when
I say, with a smirk, I don’t drink too much
I drink the right amount for me.

Chris