Daddy's on the Drink

Transcribed by:
The face of work is a drunk man in the same chair, chewing on the same bone for 5,000 nights. The face of work is a coffee-cup-in-hand frustrated, "You don't get it. They all don't get it. You all don't understand, man."

Daddy's on the drink again.
Daddy's on the drink again.
Daddy's doin' another rant on shame and blame and guilt, again.
Had a sip at six,
And still hasn't swallowed it.

Daddy's on the couch again.
Slumped, he's in that slouch again.
His fat drunk bum pushes the cushions out, my friend.
[Gavin voice: ] "You know, my Dad drinks Rye."
Yeah? Whose dad doesn't?
"There's nothin' on TV."
"There's nothin' on TV."
Then what are you watching, Dad?
He falls asleep and wakes up -- dark, dry mouth, and somehow he's in bed.

Is there a fairy? A drunk dad fairy. . .that tip-toes in, takes the TV changer out of his hand, puts a blanket around his shoulders, lifts his head off his chest, so his neck won't be sore tomorrow when the liquor leaves him for a time? Is there a drunk dad fairy? [in unison with others: ] That pays for that Chinese food?

Daddy's on the couch again.
Drink on knee, he stares out, again.
"My dad -- your granddad -- was a *drunk.* I guess it skipped a generation with me."
Really, Dad?
"You know what my problem is? I'm a workaholic."
Really, Dad?
"You don't *know* what I go through at work."
And what was he like at work? The same teetering, room-temperature Rye and Seven splashing on the merchandise? The other hand, pulling up pants when he rants:
"Ah! You don't *know* what I go through at home, do you? Let's order some Chink. Where's that menu? I think we got the stuff we usually order circled. I'm starved."

Daddy's on drink again.
Harass (?) whose Mum is at the sink again.
"What happened to the girl I married?"
Well Dad, she watched you all these years.

Mummies, don't let your babies grow up to be Daddies -- these daddies, bad daddies, dead daddies. Or Mummies? Make your babies grow up and maybe they won't *be* these daddies.

Dead drunk, rant 'n' roll.
Too upset to eat three hours later.
Can we just eat some Chinese food?
Daddy's on the drink again.

"That's music. Not like that crap you listen to. Sounds like Crupa. (?) The Winnipeg Beach. I was a goddamn king. Then you came along, didn't cha? Ah, I could use a pineapple chicken bon (bone? bong?)."

Credit to Bruce McCulloch/Atlantic Records