Whiskey Whiskey

The plane lurches
My stomach flips and I
Look to the cabin crew for
Signs of concern
But they don’t give much away
I am an Ulster man
A goddamn liberal
A man of reason
Oh the little things we tell ourselves
To give us back a
Bit of meaning
I mean God’s been dead for a while
So if there’s nowhere for our
Souls to go then
I don’t want to be so sober, so
Whiskey, whiskey
No ice in my whiskey please
Wouldn’t take a genius to
Work it out
I’ve had my fair share of
Conversations with
Twisted metal and
Broken glass
Well if lightings gonna strike me twice
This time I’m gonna do it right
Whiskey, whiskey
No ice in my whiskey please
Whiskey, whiskey
No ice in my whiskey please
I ain’t gonna die sober
The plane lurches
My stomach flips and I
Look to the cabin crew for
Signs of concern