Social Disease

My bulldog is barking in the backyard
Enough to raise a dead man from his grave.
And I can't concentrate on what I'm doing,
Disturbance going to crucify my days.

And the days they get longer and longer
And the nighttime is a time of little use.
For I just get ugly and older,
I get juiced on Mateus and just hang loose.

And I get bombed for breakfast in the morning,
I get bombed for dinner time and tea.
I dress in rags, smell a lot, and have a (real good time) (heart of gold),
I'm a genuine example of a social disease.

My landlady lives in a caravan,
Well that is when she isn't in my arms.
And it seems I pay the rent in human kindness,
But my liquor also helps to grease her palms.

And the ladies are all getting wrinkles,
And they're falling apart at the seams.
Well I just get high on tequila,
And see visions of vineyards in my dreams.