My Son Is A Master
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My Son Is A Master
You accept it or not,
But a master of
Rum,
Whiskey,
Beer,
Vodka.
Believe you it or not,
But he is
A master of some sort,
Come some day
When I shall show you
How he has dumped
The bottles
In the garden
Behind the house
Which the rag picker too
Wants it not
To take them way
The bottles,
Wine bottles lying empty,
Telling a story of
How a family ruins it,
Destroys it
And the enterprise falls
When one takes to drinking,
Laundering money!
But please ask you not,
What master
And of where,
Just suffice with the answer
He is a master, a master of bottles.
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