Boones at Noon

Boones, moon, no, it was noon. I'm such a fool.
First, I'm immune to your drunkenness, Strawberry Hill;
I assumed you were innocuous; now I adore your sweetness.

I used to fancy Bud Light, the peculiar, acrimonious flavor
That penetrated my palate, you were never quite fond of
When you were commencing that first taste, it was a date, wasn't it?
It was fate.

But subsequently, out of nowhere, you absolutely adore its savor;
With each passing sip, you are dreamy and thoughtless.

I blather need you, rancorous Bud Light;
You make me utterly bonkers, and I wanted you more
With each passing glass. I stay away from you as you are wholly perilous.

Boones, moon, no, it was noon... and now I sip on your sweetness
Strawberry Hill, watching old re-runs not on the internet
But on TV.

Because I want to go back to the nineties, but I will conform
With the eighties, please make me happy again... please!

You're still so harmful even though you are the weaker form in percentage.

Is there a problem? Yes, yes, there is a problem; why is this legal?
It has to be illegal to be so congenial and presage.

Why have I crawled back to this when I thought I was cured?
That's obscure, I need a cure. I guess I have been plagued by genetic factors.

On top of it all, now you are going to make me diabetic,
You're so sweet-tempered, gee.

Boone's, noon, moon? Where was I? Why daytime?
When everyone can see your imperfections?

Oh, it hurts! I can't move; I grow old...
Boones at noon and soon to make me feel young and free;
No more pains again because who cares at noon with Boones; cheers!

Boones, moon, Noon!!! Fuck it, right; you're the weaker form in percentage.
I'm such a fool... you're so cruel...