Whiskey Whiskey

Whiskey, whiskey

No ice in my whiskey, please

The plane lurches

My stomach flips and I

Look to the cabin crew for

Signs of concern

But they don't give much away

I am an Ulster man

A goddamn liberal

A man of reason

Oh, the little things we tell ourselves

To give us back a

Bit of meaning

I mean God's been dead for a while

So if there's nowhere for our

Souls to go then

I don't want to be so sober, so

Whiskey, whiskey

No ice in my whiskey, please

Wouldn't take a genius to

Work it out

I've had my fair share of

Conversations with

Twisted metal and

Broken glass

Well if lightings gonna strike me twice

This time I'm gonna do it right

Whiskey, whiskey

No ice in my whiskey, please

Whiskey, whiskey

No ice in my whiskey please

I ain't gonna die sober