They said I couldn’t drink no more
And I assumed an air of surprise.
I said “Ooh, I better pack it in then!”
But that was just a pack of lies.
As soon as I left the clinic,
I went round to my local shop,
Bought a litre bottle of rum,
Took it home and hid it in my sock.
Then I put that sock in the airing cupboard,
Where my husband never goes.
Now I’m drinking more than ever
And no one even knows!
So when the kids are out at school,
And my husband’s off fighting dragons,
I sneak up to my hiding place
And drink it by the flagon.
They say I’m an alcoholic
But they haven’t got a clue.
If you did what I do, love,
You’d want a chuffing drink, too!
I’m not an alcoholic,
I can stop whenever I choose.
I drink cuz life’s too short
And to chase away my Monday blues.
Sometimes, when the kids are home,
And I’m busy making tea,
I tell ‘em that I’m off upstairs,
For a fifteen-minute wee.
But of course that’s not the real reason,
It’s just a clever ruse.
I’m off up there to have a drink,
Or mix it with my “juice”.
My doctor called me in last week,
And asked me how I’m doing.
I said “I haven’t had a drink for months
Can’t you see how I’m improving?”
He looked at me with searching eyes,
Said he wasn’t quite satisfied.
He wants me to do a blood test,
And them things don’t tell lies.
Right then I knew he’d caught me out,
So I had to tell him all.
Then he pointed to a leaflet,
That was hanging on the wall.
He asked me if I’d tried AA
And I nearly fell right off my seat:
“I’m not one of those ‘God’ nutters, Doc.
I’d sooner drill holes in my feet!”
He said that I should think about it:
― “It can’t harm to try!”
So I promised that I’d do it,
But of course it was a lie.
That afternoon I drove to school,
To pick up my pride and joy.
I’ve got the perfect little family:
One girl ― one boy.
But while I was driving home ―
I swear I was only tipsy ―
I lost my cool and shouted,
At this rag and bone gypsie.
I must have put my foot down,
To get around his horse,
But I crashed into somebody’s fence,
Now they’re taking me to court.
The social services got involved,
Said it was their “duty to inspect”.
I nearly bit their fucking heads off,
When they accused me of neglect.
And as if things could get no worse,
My husband’s turned against me,
Saying he thinks my drinking’s out of hand,
And he no longer even loves me.
I swear to God they’re out to get me:
Every ― single ― one!
I had to run upstairs,
And down a shot of rum.
And suddenly it hit me:
My mind was crystal clear:
I only had to slow it down,
And change from rum to beer.
So the very next morning,
After dropping off my little darlings,
I popped into the supermarket,
And bought ten cans of Carling.
I went back to my car,
And downed a can to try it out.
It didn’t even touch the sides;
The percentage is flipping nowt!
By half eleven that morning,
I’d drank the other nine,
While doing the housework to disco music,
And having a jolly-good time.
I told myself I’d had enough,
I’d better leave it there,
But quickly changed my mind again to the mantra:
Fuck it ― who cares!
Fast forward two years,
And I’m living on my own.
My husband ran off to Thailand,
And the kids are in a foster home.
But it doesn’t really bother me,
Now I’m free to get shitfaced,
And I drink wherever I want,
Without this stupid, fuck―ing hi―ding place.