There's no way to outdrink a sunny Sunday afternoon,
Seeing how it's so tinged
With potential and perishability
since we all know there is no tomorrow,
Whether or not the weather.
But I try anyway, drinking beers like
The heroes in old westerns quaffed whiskies
Hoping against hope
That the twelve gunmen don't show up
And I can outdrink the sheriff
Hiding under his desk.