A bottle of whiskey or whatever you please, Just give me your order, I got your disease. Tell me your problems, tell me your story, Tell me about how you never had glory. Talk about how you lost the game of the season, Tell me your faults, then tell me the reason. Chorus: I got your disease my friend, here on my side. Just ante up your soul and take it for a ride. (Repeat) So your girlfriend left you and your job don't pay much, Now your home is empty and you've forgotten her touch. So your money is low and taxes are coming, A shit storm is brewing and the thunder is drumming. Chorus Well I can't sell you luck or the key to the city, But I can sell you a beer and give you my pity. So pray to that bottle if it keeps you sane, And I'll give you more if it eases your pain; But know in this escape, more problems are hurled, For they won't go away for all the beer in the world. Chorus ©1999 Tim Dufrisne Back To Lyrics This page hosted by Geocities