ah, he sits by the table with a cup of coffee
ah, scratch that its a bottle of whiskey
bathing in the moonlight, waiting softly
thinking of the words he's gonna say in the daytime
oh shit! Fuck! the tables turned again
too drunk to stop now, too drunk to begin
so he grasps, and gasps, and sneers to his girlfriend
sitting on the floor, passing gas and laughing
aaargh, he says sitting in the chair, glaring to the pair
the beasts are calling, baby, go and do your hair

here we go, fingers swindling to the beat now rocking
of thoughts flowing endlessly in a drunken stupor-y
ah, this wicked life its too cool for you guys, see
I and I ain't gotta do nothing, I'm always free to die
Its me going out, bar flying against the pavement,
the lucky old ones come knocking, looking for he
who me?, not me, I ain't never did anything
my stories and poetry, the briskness and the climb
the me within me, its all been one hell of a ride
sickly little henry ain't never done anything
but sending in all my stories,
I am king of the little magazines

she washes her ass by the sink, I go to the kitchen to get a drink,
what ya wanna do tonight, darling? I said with spite, "you wanna go out, or love me all night?"
Ah, i'm too tired to take a piss, sitting here has gotten me all in a fit,
maybe I'll read her something, to soothe my aching face
Baby, come here, listen, take heed, make haste

here we go fingers, to and fro, my type has gotten to be slightly grungy
I sent in all my letters while hearing that sweet hot water music parody
all I got in return was "Old man, you better stick it"
and the beer flow is slowing, I know, I know, dear, I'll get to it
I can hear you all the time, all the time, hear your fuckin voice
baby, don't you know who I am, don't you know what I've seen
I am king of the little magazines