Wedding Song
It was the night before the wedding
With my bride's best friend
Save the prayers for my soul
That's not how it ends
In a flat in South London
With my best man, Lou
A hard-drinking Brummie
Had just one job to do
Keep me off the booze
Keep me off the booze
His chosen method
Cannot be recommended
He said get all the alcohol
And give it to me
That kind of party
Is not what I intended
I insisted he share
He didn't want to agree
Lou took a bottle
Of a spirit unknown
My wife's best friend
Was only glad to see it go
She poured herself a drink
To even things up
I couldn't sit there
With nothing in my cup
Nothing in my cup
Nothing in my cup
Four in the morning
We'd drunk the flat dry
Not a dribble of whisky
Nor one drop of wine
One obvious winner
And one cat's paw
Unconsciously flinching
Flaked out on the floor
A half eye opens
To half see the scene
A realisation
Of what this all means
Half past eleven
A real bombshell
White light of the kitchen
Hungover to Hell
Hungover to Hell
Hungover to Hell
I head for the fridge
For my recuperation
An apple juice carton
Looks a lot like salvation
My head needs appeasing
Then Lou blunders in
Blood eyes bulging
Says "what the hell you doing?
It's your own fuckin' wedding!"
He's seen me with a drink
My glass of redemption
Goes straight down the sink
Just one job to do
Keep me off the booze, Lou!
© Andrew Szwejkowski, 2016. All rights reserved.
With my bride's best friend
Save the prayers for my soul
That's not how it ends
In a flat in South London
With my best man, Lou
A hard-drinking Brummie
Had just one job to do
Keep me off the booze
Keep me off the booze
His chosen method
Cannot be recommended
He said get all the alcohol
And give it to me
That kind of party
Is not what I intended
I insisted he share
He didn't want to agree
Lou took a bottle
Of a spirit unknown
My wife's best friend
Was only glad to see it go
She poured herself a drink
To even things up
I couldn't sit there
With nothing in my cup
Nothing in my cup
Nothing in my cup
Four in the morning
We'd drunk the flat dry
Not a dribble of whisky
Nor one drop of wine
One obvious winner
And one cat's paw
Unconsciously flinching
Flaked out on the floor
A half eye opens
To half see the scene
A realisation
Of what this all means
Half past eleven
A real bombshell
White light of the kitchen
Hungover to Hell
Hungover to Hell
Hungover to Hell
I head for the fridge
For my recuperation
An apple juice carton
Looks a lot like salvation
My head needs appeasing
Then Lou blunders in
Blood eyes bulging
Says "what the hell you doing?
It's your own fuckin' wedding!"
He's seen me with a drink
My glass of redemption
Goes straight down the sink
Just one job to do
Keep me off the booze, Lou!
© Andrew Szwejkowski, 2016. All rights reserved.
