| Now I want to tell you a little story about the old demon alcohol
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| Yes indeed, my little chickadee
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| Here’s a sad and woeful story about a middle class executive
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| Who enjoyed a life of prominence and position
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| But the pressures at the office
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| And his socialite engagements
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| And his selfish wife’s fanatical ambition
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| It turned him to the booze
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| And he got mixed up with a floosie
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| And she led him to a life of indecision
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| The floosie made him spend his dough
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| She left him lying on Skid Row
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| A drunken lag in some Salvation Army Mission
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| It’s very sad
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| Oh, demon alcohol
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| Sad memories I can’t recall
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| Who thought I would say, damn it all
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| And blow it all
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| Oh, demon alcohol
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| Memories I can’t recall
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| Who thought I would fall
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| A slave to demon alcohol
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| Sad memories I can’t recall
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| Who thought I would fall
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| A slave to demon alcohol
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| Barley wine, pink gin
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| He’ll drink anything
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| Port, pernod or tequila
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| Rum, scotch, vodka on the rocks
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| As long as all his troubles disappeared
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| But he beat up his life
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| Went and messed up his wife
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| And the floosie’s gone and found another sucker
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| She’s gonna turn him on to drink
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| She’s gonna lead him to the brink
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| And when his money’s gone, she’ll leave him in the gutter
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| It’s very sad
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| Oh!
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| Oh, demon alcohol
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| Sad memories I can’t recall
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| Who thought I would say, damn it all
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| And blow it all
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| Sad memories I can’t recall
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| Who thought I would fall
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| A slave to demon alcohol |