No three-outs I’ll have, but my whack to the brim.
For when I was born my mother gave me gin.
The gin it flow’d the glasses to adorn,
On the drunken hour when I was born;
The nurse she sang, but I did scream,
My mother called out for valley’s cream;
And never was known such a drunken crush,
As welcomed to life this child of lush!
I’ve lived since then in riot and din,
Full thirty winters quite warm with gin;