The Epicure

He stuffs himself fat,
And drinks himself stupid;
He smokes every last friggin' fag in the pack.
And his heart's a fine organ,
But it ain't playin' Cupid
(Though his ticker is dodgy,
It has always come back.)

He drinks himself fat,
And eats himself stupid;
He gnaws every last friggin' bone in the freezer.
Though the odds are he'll last
Just a year, he'll bet two, bid
The house on a nice, happy life -
Drink a Breezer.

'All You Can Eat' is a challenge he'll take;
He will gorge till he's gagged,
And he'll swill till he's slewed.
In the morgue where he lies,
His big toe has been tagged.
And his friends raise a toast to him:
'One happy dude !'