Whiskey Whiskey

Whiskey, whiskey, No ice in my whiskey, please. The plane lurches, My stomach flips and I, Look to the cabin crew for, Signs of concern. But they don't give much away. I am an Ulster man, A goddamn liberal. A man of reason, Oh, the little things we tell ourselves, To give us back a, Bit of meaning. I mean God's been dead for a while. So if there's nowhere for our, Souls to go then, I don't want to be so sober, so. Whiskey, whiskey, No ice in my whiskey, please. Wouldn't take a genius to, Work it out. I've had my fair share of, Conversations with, Twisted metal and, Broken glass, Well if lightings gonna strike me twice, This time I'm gonna do it right. Whiskey, whiskey, No ice in my whiskey, please. Whiskey, whiskey, No ice in my whiskey please, I ain't gonna die sober.