The Public Intox Blues

With no memory of how i got here

I wonder who might put up the bail.

My last recall were shots and a beer;

state of panic, I shout in mad fear:

"Let me out, let me out, let me out of this jail!"

They say, "Quiet down, or we'll come in there."

I feel sick, my skin certainly pale;

try to breathe, but can find no air.

Claustrophobic, this space I can't bare:

"Let me out, let me out, let me out of this jail!"

They come in with force, i puke on their shoes;

in a panic my arms start to flail.

Given a swat that will leave a bruise;

I know, now, I drank way too much booze:

"Let me out, let me out, let me out of this jail!"