My dad taught me about music. He used to tap dance.
A man has one, a cat has nine, and in between it's killing time.
He's better than the rest, and his arm sweat smells the best.
Oh, demon alcohol, sad memories I can't recall.
They filled us full of false illusions and promiscuity, and they led us down that class-less road of mediocrity.
The only time I feel at ease is swinging up and down in a coconut tree.