We are drowning in our blankets, we are climbing from the couch Drinking straight arsenic, drinking straight arsenic Tearing up the sofa, clowning around Grape juice Pennsylvanian without a metal barrel to be found
And we drive for something better and we break our local laws And we read exposing letters about their flaws And we want a taste of godship, just a sip is all A ‘shiner we met at Scoreboard takes us to the stall
And there are tiny pony chairs in the hall….
Moonshine in the bathroom, homebrew in the bed Tastes a bit like gasoline, I think her gas can leaked a bit Follow her white pick up, what do we hope to find? ‘Neath the tar beyond the trailer park—this is where she makes the famous wine
And we’re not sure how to tell her as we’re blindfolded and led Down the stairs into a cellar that there’s danger ahead We can hear the cushions rustling, underground the sound is small As we drink the wine of gods, we can hear someone crawl
And there are tiny pony chairs in the hall
So we climb into the barrels, drown ourselves in wine and fall Out from the cushions into our apartment, just before the wrecking ball