I’d quit, but I’m afraid I’m done down,
That hill, a bottle short and dry throat,
Hit after hit, lost in a dry bin,
Short a dollar, or a dollar short,
A bit of hay, a match in the stack,
Burning down my life, drowning down town,
Bars entrapped me, pots and pans consumed me,
Looking to be free, instead drowned 6 feet deep.