Achilles Lung

Stop trying to pretend that you are going to stop
You’re either a smoker or you’re not
You will keep on smoking for the rest of your life
And then you’ll get cancer and then you’ll die
I can stop whenever I please and anyway
I’m immune to emphysema and heart disease
My diary says tomorrow is the day I quit
And I’m going to stick with that
I’ll work my way down to the end of this pack
And then I’m leaving this place and I’m never coming back again
Little itches need no stitches but they bury you
If you keep on scratching you’ll go right through
Whiskey for the amputee is just the thing to ease the sting
I’ll work my way down to the end of this pack
And then I’m leaving this place and I’m never coming back again
I’ve got a list of things to get round to
I’ve got a list of all the things I shouldn’t do
I know it by heart
I’ve got the damn thing in my pocket
But despite myself it’s the middle of the night and I am round at your house
again
Trying to pretend that I am going to stop
I’m either a smoker or I’m not
You will keep on smoking for the rest of my life
And don’t I know it:
My favourite fatal weakness
I’ll work my way down to the end of this pack
And then I’m leaving this place and I’m never coming back again
I’ll work my way down to the end of this pack
And then I’m leaving this place and I’m never coming back
I’ll see you around, somewhere in town
Or next time I’m down, probably right here