Drunk Superman

Sitting in the corner

Should I or should not warn her

About that fool on her table

Hands and tongue unstable

She don’t care for the car I don’t own

Or if we starve to the very bone

My blunt words don’t hurt no more

Like inconsequential ice when whisky is poured

She don’t want a man with many homes

Blue eyes, or them custom chromosomes

Credit cards, gold chains and diamond rings

Fucking five star dinners fit for kings

All she wants in me

Is a relentless drunk, soul occasionally free

She longs for one who stands up for her

When the rest conspire to defer

A man who does not promise the moon

Or sings some unforgettable tune

But stands in front of a bullet headed her way

One who would simply act, instead of simply say

The fool on her table

Is strong and able

To put three or four to sleep

I am but a single drunk with a single love to keep

Lies, fear and Tequila is overcome

Put myself between her and that bum

He tries to touch what is mine

He runs into a drunk with a spine

I look into the motherfucker’s eyes

And tell him to be wise

Murder on his face clearly writ

A snake outside his toxic pit

But I am who I am

An original, not a Zara sham

I tell the prick he has bitten more than he can chew

If he moves, it will be the last thing he’ll ever do

He looks into my eyes

Sees a sleeping beast rise

Raises his hand

Says I don’t want no trouble man

As I see him walk away

A fucking cliché of a fucking cliché

She puts her hand on mine

Says she could handle the swine

But it’s what she doesn’t say

It’s what every damn woman doesn’t say

All she has wanted over the years

A drunk being a man, for a moment that’s only hers