Poetry Explorer

Classic and Contemporary Poetry

RYE WHISKY by ANONYMOUS

First Line: I'LL EAT WHEN I'M HUNGRY
Last Line: "YOU MAY BOAST OF YOUR KNOWLEDGE, AND BRAG OF YOUR SENSE, / 'TWILL BE ALL FORGOTTEN YEARS HENCE"
Subject(s): ALCOHOL & ALCOHOLICS;
I'll eat when I'm hungry, I'll drink when I'm dry;
If the hard times don't kill me, I'll live till I die.

Rye whisky, rye whisky, rye whisky, I cry,
If you don't give me rye whisky, I surely will die.

I'll tune up my fiddle, and I'll rosin my bow,
And make myself welcome wherever I go.

Beefsteak when I'm hungry, red liquor when I'm dry,
Greenbacks when I'm hard up, and religion when I die.

They say I drink whisky; my money's my own,
All them that don't like me can leave me alone.

Sometimes I drink whisky, sometimes I drink rum,
Sometimes I drink brandy, at other times none.

But if I get boozy, my whisky's my own,
And them that don't like me can leave me alone.

Jack o' diamonds, jack o' diamonds, I know you of old,
You've robbed my poor pockets of silver and gold.

Oh, whisky, you villain, you've been my downfall;
You've kicked me, you've cuffed me, but I love you for all.

If the ocean was whisky and I was a duck
I'd dive to the bottom and get one sweet suck.

But the ocean ain't whisky and I ain't a duck,
So we'll round up the cattle and then we'll get drunk.

Sweet milk when I'm hungry, rye whisky when I'm dry,
If a tree don't fall on me, I'll live till I die.

I'll buy my own whisky, I'll make my own stew;
If I get drunk, madam, it's nothing to you.

I'll drink my own whisky, I'll drink my own wine;
Some ten thousand bottles I've killed in my time.

I'll drink and I'll gamble, my money's my own,
And them that don't like me can leave me alone.

My foot in the stirrup, my bridle in my hand,
A-courting fair Mollie, to marry if I can.

My foot's in my stirrup, my bridle's in my hand;
I'm leaving sweet Mollie, the fairest in the land.

Her parents don't like me, they say I'm too poor;
They say I'm unworthy to enter her door.

I've no wife to quarrel, no babies to bawl;
The best way of living is no wife at all.

Way up on Clinch Mountain I wander alone;
I'm as drunk as the devil. Oh, let me alone.

You may boast of your knowledge, and brag of your sense,
'Twill be all forgotten a hundred years hence.




Home: PoetryExplorer.net