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Rated: 13+ · Poetry · Adult · #1679826
This is what happens when you dance with the Demon Rum.

Last night I had a bit to drink.
A bit too much, I'm beginning to think.
To soak my head, I'm gonna need a big sink.
Oh, the demon rum.

Now I can't get in no big hurry.
And 'scuse me if my speech is slurry,
'Cause my tongue, it seems, is kinda furry.
Curse the demon rum.

It took me away from the pain and toil.
And then I was found with my face in the soil.
Now the hurtin' is worse than chewin' tin foil.
Damn, the demon rum.

Ah, my Lord, what have I done?
My eyes look like a bleedin' sun.
And my head feels like a hot cross bun.
Oh, the demon rum.

Now it's morning, I complain.
The part of the day I most disdain.
When lying in this state again.
Dumb from demon rum.

My poor old head is just so sore.
So, please, don't slam the fridge's door.
And the milk you get, do softly pour.
OOOOH, demon rum.

Man what an awful sound it makes.
When the milk falls down upon my flakes.
It nearly makes my eardrums break.
Ain't no fun that demon rum.

Get some aspirin, hand me some.
Find a doctor, bring me one.
My body shakes and my bowels start to run.
Run from demon rum.

This crummy old feeling I must chase.
I've got to find a brand new face.
I need to join the human race.
Is there a beer around someplace?
Oh yeah, Demon Rum.
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