baby i feel good
with this bourbon scotch whisky
running through my veins
and your fingers in my hair
my unreliable eyes
reading the unreliable lies of
a clock across the room
which appears to indicate
it’s bedtime
but baby i’m too drunk to fuck
too drunk for bedtime
and what a waste of sacramental southern spirits
to sleep now
i know, i know there’ll be a headache tomorrow
but right now all i care about
is dancing to the panther
with you
and proving
dexter gordon was right
the sax is god’s instrument
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