A glass one fourth filled, with ice, floating up the water,
bitter to even smell; dark, was that quarter,
I drank it slowly, ain't fond of it now,
Don't want to drink it again, Let me tell you how,
It burns when it is inside
Neither tasty is that whiskey, nor is it fine.
Then I looked at the triangle pots, people called them tequila shots,
I had one & then the other, then the other,Tasteless looked that quarter,
I gulped it in a go, ain't fond of it now,
Don't want to drink it again, let me tell you how,
I lost my mind, felling off to alien sides
Got up, walked a step
& tripped beside.
Finally, I found the one made for me,
Golden in colour & a lot of vibrancy.
I had enough with the wrong doer,
I finally fell in love with beer.