Too many dregs to know of
A cold beer for every single chat, a shot of sambuca for every goddamn boy who will try as he might to match a girl for gusto
One liquor-filled aroma at a time
You. Must. Prove. Yourself. All. Over. Again
Close those eyes, open the air right up, dispose of it altogether
And, above all else, try and applaud it all
Small bearings always seem to bring with them a certain degree of surefire winnings
You need to trust me on that one
Take away, subtract, do your goddamn maths
You’ll be taking yourself to the very next level, just please do us this one favour and mix it all up