One shot, two shots,
four shots a latte!
I'm buzzin' off my rocker
and I need to use the pot-tay.
Technicolor rainbows
are arching through my head
twelve short minutes after
I was feeling kind of dead.
I bellow out a random song
invented on the fly
And burst into a fit of dance
As if it's Hammer-time.
But what goes up comes down so fast,
my brain falls off it's perch.
With a bone-dry mouth, a yellow tongue
and speech becoming slurred,
the purple bags beneath my eyes
could now be used for laundry.
Countenance can change so fast
From neat and nice to tawdry!
What happened to my attitude?
. . . . I need a cup of coffee. . .
No you don't- just take a nap
You look worse than al-Gaddafi!!
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