The art of boozing isn’t hard to master;
so many bottles seem filled with my drink
(beer, any kind) that I become disaster.
Like Friday, I meet this guy they call Blaster.
Gross, right? He grabs my ass and I just wink.
The art of boozing isn’t hard to master.
He comes back to my place. We’re playing pastor
and alter boy. God I need a new shrink.
At least the night isn’t quite a disaster.
It’s getting hot and heavy. He goes faster
and I get so close I can’t even think.
The art of boozing is not hard to master.
But then, a stench!—My nose is so harassed or,
rather, burning, I lose it in a blink.
’Kay, now this night is a total disaster.
--He wants to keep going. He’s such a long laster,
but I’m done. I go puke in the sink.
The art of boozing’s not too hard to master,
though it can end in (Smell it!) in disaster.