The Hot Rod Unloads – Would Somebody Take A Photo Of Me Topless Please?

Like many grumpy bastards my age (mid-30’s….) I like to have a rant against the world. Thanks to the internet, everyone can rant away to their heart’s content. Whether people listen… well, that’s another problem, but often, it’s less about who reads the rant as much as it is about just doing the ranting.

There’s a couple of things I’ve seen in recent weeks and months that have just made me weep for the future of humanity. As a grumpy old bastard, it’s my solemn duty to now proceed to berate you with what I see as prime examples of bottom-feeding pond scum living off the goodness of others.

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The Hot Rod Unloads: When the world ends, I have dibs on the booze.

You’re gonna need a pick-me-up track from the Juiced Box this time out. And for a genuine legendary pick-me-up, you can’t go past Bob Marley.

I know, I know, it’s been a while since I had anything to say here at The Bar None. Pull up a stool and I’ll ignore your whining. Normally, my kind words of comfort and sympathy to the lesser individuals amongst us wash against your tired, drunken brain like vomit swirling around the bottom of the toilet. I’ve left you all alone for a while now, safe in the warm, molesting hands of our favorite barkeep, young Al. But I’ve held my tongue too long, far too long against the oncoming tide since I last put finger to keyboard and delivered a rant like no other to those I see as betrayers of the human condition. Something’s been pissing me off for a long time now, something brewing bigger than a vat of German ale at Oktoberfest. Forgive me if this gets a little…. political… or “real”, but for fucks sake, don’t you just want to scream?

It’s pretty fuckin’ obvious that the world is damn near screwed. Not just one-night-stand screwed, I mean bang a bus full of football hooligans for a buck kinda screwed. Royally reamed, bent over and inserted with something sharp, solid, and cold. Yeah, you say, this is gonna be about that Kardashian slag, right? About how her IMDB bio got fucked with by some smartass with more balls than a bus full of women screwing a football hooligan. Wait, that’s not right. It’s wrong. That’s not what I’m on about here.

Apparently, money’s main weakness is lightning…

I want to talk to you about finance. Money. And how we’re all royally screwed. A rant about corporate greed, corruption and how that stupid Zuckerberg has the scrotum to put an internet company up for public float and make all his employees multimillionaires. I just want you to know, Zuckerberg, if I ever bump in to you on a dark night in a park somewhere, when the street lamps have blown and all you have for company is a wino sleeping on a bench covered with the sports section, I’m gonna fuck you up say some stuff that’ll probably make you cry. So you have a net worth higher than the GDP of India if the GDP of India was like a gazillion rupee, does that mean I have to swallow your damn arrogant smile as you make even more from conning the public?

We typed “Mark Zuckerberg” into Google and this is the only picture that came up.

Before I get off topic and into a Zuckerberg rant, let’s just say I’m a little pissed at how badly our world economy is traveling. And if this isn’t enough to make people take up boozin’ to get past it, then nothing will. Let’s look at some facts, okay? – I know, they’re a rarity round these parts, but let’s fucking look anyway. Europe, to clarify my earlier statement, is – for want of a better word – screwed. The bottom’s fallen out of the market in the majority of the major Euro players – Ireland, Spain, Portugal and Greece are all abso-lutely rooted. And by rooted, I mean that not in a supportive context, but the kind of context you’d find in a bestiality porno. Greece especially looks like dragging the world down into some kind of mega-depression, from what the news reports say. Now, I normally drink through the opening twenty minutes of our local news service, so I can spend more time finding the sporting highlight hilarious, but of late I’ve noticed a disturbing trend in those opening twenty minutes of whatever they normally gab on about. Greece, and a whole bunch of other Euro Zone countries (what, is that like the opposite of the End Zone or something?) look like they’re struggling to repay some kind of debt, and now they’re having to introduce something called “austerity measures” to keep the budget in check…. in other words, the Big End Of Town got a little loose with the cash, so now the Little People are gonna have to eat bread and chips for a generation to pay for it. Or something like that. So you have a bunch of Greek politicians being voted in… voted out… voted back in…. resigning…. being voted back in again… like a roundabout of folks who want to be in charge but don’t want to fix anything. Sounds like me on a Sunday afternoon when the wife tells me to get out and mow the lawn…. chuckle….

You wouldn’t like him when he’s hungry.

Then there’s America. Big frickin’ America, so proud of itself it can’t see where it’s stuck its own head right up its ass and is eating its own poo. Apparently, and I’m not just making this up, America owes like half of its firstborn children to the Chinese. Kid you not. Most of America is damn near owned entirely by China – a country who about thirty years ago couldn’t even keep people out of a square somewhere without needing to bring in the tanks. (Too soon?) America’s been fighting two wars at the same time (which, I admit, was pretty cool at the start but now looks stupid) and they’ve spent more on their military budget than they can afford – which brings us to their stupid “debt ceiling”. You mean, there’s a limit to debt? Holy Christ in a handbasket, does that mean we’ll see some fiscal responsibility from the Yanks in order to keep their budget and house in order? No siree, just fire up the good old Constitution and vote to increase the level of debt America can handle, and that’ll solve a world of problems, right? Instead, didn’t somebody ask the question: “if it doesn’t matter how much debt we have, why do we even have a debt ceiling?”. Good fucking question, man.

Tossing about new taglines for currency, we came up with this little effort.

Imagine if I walked into the Bar None and decided I’d rack up a tab which was more than I earned in a week. I couldn’t pay that tab, but I came back a week later and did the same thing again, increasing my debt to Al but still being unable to pay him back completely. And I do this same thing week in, week out. I’m pretty sure Al would back me up when I say that that’s a shitty way to do business, but if you wanna tie everything up in a pretty bow so the uneducated can understand it, that’s pretty close to what the US has been doing. Apparently, it doesn’t matter how much they owe to anybody, because they can simply print more money or something and make their problems go away with a war. It’s enough to make a poor guy drink, isn’t it?

Because whining about something will always get you what you want.

China and the rest of Asia (aside from Japan, who are currently the Switzerland of Asian finance on account of a fricking nuclear problem and some kinda earthquake) have strong economies, so strong in fact that the rest of the world is, very soon, going to have to rely on them completely for financial strength. Down here in Australia, about the only industry we have outside of Russell Crowe is our mining industry, chugging away selling our valuable minerals to a bunch of people who still censor the internet. Fuck you Google, they say, and Google says okay I’ll go get fucked. Stupid Google. The mining industry to China is worth billions upon billions to our national economy, much the same way call centers are worth the same to the Indian economy. So if China was to suddenly pull the plug on mining in Australia, this little Hot Rod might be typing his next post via the ankle of a carrier pigeon. The Western World has got itself into a pretty shaky position, it would seem, and yet young people are still going out drinking instead of learning Mandarin, which we should all know when the new world order begins in a few years.

The scariest graph you’ll ever see…

I jest, but seriously, has anybody in charge actually sat back and wondered if we shouldn’t just let it all go to shit? Let the Greeks stick with a financial system which is obviously working out so well for them? Let the Euro Zone collapse and plunge the world into a financial collapse so massive it’d make the Great Depression look like a smoko break out the back of work? Right now, there’s a bunch of banking tossers running between their multi-million dollar corporate offices wondering how in the hell they’ll keep their hedge funds and investment deals that allow them the pleasure of swanning about the Mediterranean on the triple-level yacht their wife wanted, smoking cigars and banging a bunch of low-level Euro-trash hookers. I hope they choke on their heroin caviar, because it’s those wankers who’ve got us all into this mess. Yeah, I could blame my need for a 50″ plasma or a six bedroom house when I only need one with three, and how my capitalist lifestyle has simply added fuel to the fire of the impending Western Collapse, but like any good capitalist, I’m gonna try and avoid blame by making it someone else’s problem.

I know where all HER debt is hiding….

So why not let it all go – let the world economy reset to zero like we all thought it would on Y2K? No doubt it’s because the missing-tooth brigade in America’s deep south might say it’s all Osama Bin Laden’s fault (because even in death, that fucker’s still screwing with us all), and then there’d be some holy war between the Westboro Baptist Church and the Islamic Religion like we all hope will happen (seriously, I’d pay to see that) ending in some kind of apocalypse. If we all did revert back to the stone age of economic ruin, though, I guarantee there’s one thing that would make it easier to bear.

We’ll find any reason to put a pic of Kim Kardashian sucking something up here at the Bar None.

Booze. If we all do end up circling the drain of banking misconduct, thanks to the sackless wonders currently running the financial markets, I wanna make sure it’s on public record that I’m gonna be stashing a whole bunch of booze out the back of my house. I suggest you do the same. It’s gonna make fantasizing about that stupid Kardashian cow a whole lot easier when the world ends.

The Hot Rod Unloads: Why Stupid Dares Are Awesome

You know that period of your youth when you think you can do just about anything, and get away with it consequence free? Well, now you can’t, apparently. Today, I want to discuss the truth of being an idiot and accepting a stupid, stupid dare, and getting caught. I had a laugh at this imbecile online today, and felt it was important to not only highlight yet another example of what happen when people with limited intellect are given a higher opinion of themselves by other imbeciles, but also to recognize just how awesomely cool this guy is for the world to see. Click the link below for the video…..

VIDEO: Supermarket motocross stunt

Yes, it’s a dude riding a motorbike through a supermarket. Full helmet and gear, so I guess he was trying to be a safe rider, but his major problem was the automatic sliding door at the other end of the complex – which he hits and is forced to walk away, rather than ride. Is it just me, or is there something hilarious about all this? I mean, sure, he put the safety of other shoppers at risk, and no doubt his own safety was a concern to the folks who tried to assist him in not getting away with it – at least until the fake family member arrived to berate those same people whom this superhero tried to mow down – but man, what a laugh. You can’t begrudge a man for taking on a challenge, a challenge most likely set up by his drunken mates around a pool table one night who no doubt bet him that if he lost the next frame, he’d have to scooter through a supermarket and make the nightly news.


Here's what you DON'T do in the Ukraine...

Haven’t we all?

No seriously, haven’t we?


Who's drunkererer? The horse or the kid?

Traditionally, the concept of the stupid dare (or bet) falls to the male of the species to execute – be it petty theft, jumping on, over or through something that wasn’t meant to be used to jump on, in or over, driving something fast somewhere truly imbecilic, or otherwise behaving in a fashion designed to shorten your lifespan or lengthen the time you spend in intensive care. I know, it’s a sexist argument, but look at the facts. Almost all the Darwin Awards are won by men, and the participation rate of women in said Awards is, not surprisingly, low. Of course, when women get drunk they tend to simply undress each other and fall into bed in a strange, Penthouse-style lesbian tryst – or is that just my overactive imagination? No, women don’t do stupid things like this, right? They just giggle, flirt and fall over a lot when they’re pissed, but men…. well, men take things to a whole ‘nother level. God, YouTube would cease to exist if they had to take down all the video’s of stupid people (men) doing stupid things – pissed or otherwise. That and those annoying cute animal/baby videos.


No express supermarket sprint-through for this dude...

The point I want to make is this, and I apologize for not getting here earlier – men, it seems, moreso than women, are predisposed to acting like infantile lunatics once they’ve had a skinful. Sure, we’ve all streaked naked through a public place, and who hasn’t spent the morning wondering how their car ended up in the pool of the next door neighbor? Men naturally behave like the cavemen we’ve developed from because alcohol causes our brains to revert to this behavior because it’s where we have the most fun. Safety in a booze-sozzled state seems ironic considering how many people have been killed thanks to an over-consumption of the amber ale, but that’s Man Logic for you. Don’t expect me to explain everything. But looking at the facts, and the sheer weight of numbers provided by The Internet as proof of mans stupidity, it seems to me that history in this area is, to borrow a phrase from the classic song, just a little bit repeating. Women get drunk, but men get drunk and behave like monkeys.

I can’t claim to have ever tried to ride a moving vehicle through a shopping complex, although a few screenings of The Blues Brothers during a drinking session at high school (yes, we drank in high school) tended to make us think we could do something similar. We didn’t, but perhaps the dude on the motorbike took it just that little bit further. For God’s sake, surely he was dared to, right? I can’t imagine anybody sitting there thinking “shit man, I think I’m gonna ride my Ducati through the express lane, pick up a dozen eggs, a block of chocolate and make it back home to watch reruns of Baywatch” and actually going through with it. No rational person, anyway. The only other excuse I can give him is that he got lost thanks to Google Maps and turned left instead of right when the voice told him to. After all, Google don’t fuck it up, right? So it must have been some sort of dare, a bet or other wager to which he either lost, or was in the process of winning. “Man, if you make it through there on your bike I’ll give you a hundred bucks”. That’s the ticket to fame, right there.


Man, are you SURE this won't end up on the internet?

Which leads onto my question for this post: what’s the stupidest thing you’ve ever done on a drunken dare, or drunken bet? I just know many of you will read this and cringe with embarrassment, perhaps a little shame-faced at the lack of police activity which followed your night of misjudged deeds and the fact you got away with it – here’s the place to air your dirty laundry. After all, we’re all anonymous on the internet (except for me, because anybody with the slightest ounce of web-savvy could find out who I am – it’s no secret!) so let fly with your stupidest, most insane drunken bet story. We want some dirt people, and if possible, some video proof if you have it. For once, let’s celebrate the idiots we all become when we can’t control our impulses.

Hot Rod Out.

The Hot Rod Unloads: Hot, Heavy and Drunken Petting

You know how you get drunk and start thinking that you have the sexual prowess of a porn star, before deciding to try acting on it and discovering that, actually, you don’t? I put this to the male members of the Bar None’s quorum of intellect, since they’re the ones most likely to try it on with the females in the joint…. it’s a broad generalization, I know, but are you really going to argue the point? It’s my experience that alcohol makes men randy, and women flirty – there’s a subtle difference I’ll get to in a moment; we all know a randy drunk man experience, right girls? Let’s face it: men, when pissed, think they have a 12-inch penis and a body like The Situation. Girls, though, tend to follow the example set by Cyndi Lauper: the Before looks stunningly hot, sexy and sultry, the kind of woman most men would lust after – the After looks like a cross between Sid Vicious and Sid Haig, a laugh like Fran Drescher on helium, and an exhibitionism mandate that makes Graham Norton look like a choirboy. Which is why Beer Goggles are a great invention.

From the Juiced Box: Kevin Bloody Wilson – Do You F*** On First Dates?


The greatest invention ever?

Beer goggles are often blamed for a multitude of facepalm moments The Morning After, as you roll off the bed and try escaping the clutches of whichever fat-best-friend you slutted yourself with to get into the panties of the girl you’re really into. Alcohol makes the brain process images in a different kind of way: the ugliest, fattest, most socially repugnant member of the opposite sex is suddenly transformed into (at least) an option for copulation, if not an outright certainty. Thoughts along the “well, he/she isn’t that bad lookin’” line start to bubble up, and before long, you’re playing tonsil hockey with somebody who looks like they’ve eaten a herd of cows. The speed at which this occurs is directly proportional to the quantity of alcohol imbibed.


Ye Olde Timey Sexing

All of which leads me to the topic of this post: the inexplicably amusing concept of Drunk Sex, and the journey we all take along the pathway to it. Most consenting adults have tried it at some stage, with varying degrees of success. Men find alcoholic courage allows them to try it on with a woman, bypassing the social conventions of meeting and getting to know a woman before trying to sleep with her. Women, on the other hand, get all flirty by steadfastly refuse to put out: drunk women are, frankly, a sexual pain in the ass. In every way imaginable. Most of the time, when the clothing becomes less restrictive, and more bare flesh is shown, and the louder the laugh and the wobblier the walk, the less inclined the womenfolk are to let a man…. well, you know. It’s my experience that woman become a giant prick-tease after they’ve had a skin full. It’s frustrating as all hell for the men, who’re only trying to do the most natural thing in the world by screwing their brains out in an orgy of lust and sexual release – like two positives, drunk women and men will almost always repel each other.


Fun? I doubt that...

That being said, there are exceptions. On the occasion when two people manage to get themselves into the position (ahem) of being intimate with each other, and both said people are a little hammered (or blind drunk, whichever you prefer), the act of procreation becomes something of a routine the likes of which will never make it onto Comedy Central. Limbs thrashing, sweaty skin and the slo-motion fumbling which feels like Basic Instinct but looks more like Showgirls, Drunk Sex is like trying to drive a bus through a rabbit hole. The man usually has a lack of ability to maintain his erection, and the woman is breathing so heavy the curtains threaten to open by themselves and expose all the goings-on to the rest of the world. Neither wants to admit they’re unable to enjoy themselves because they’re concentrating so hard on being the Perfect Lover and being not-quite-so-pissed, the sexiness of the fantasy is replaced with the cold, limp realization that sex whilst drunk is an event so replete with ineptitude it’s never gonna get a look in at the Olympics. So after the man fails to satisfy the woman, or himself for that matter, and both of them collapse on the bed/floor/pavement in an exhausted pretense of being “finished”, one of them will invariably mention the concept of “spooning”, and so they both fall into a slumber with the aforementioned unfinished business a rapidly evaporating memory.


An example of wooden things spooning....

However, the real belly-laughs come from The Morning After, when both parties awake to find that the person they thought was quite hot and sexy the night before, actually looks like a reject from Hoarders. The Lauren Hutton gap-toothed look you thought was modern and chic the night before is actually a Redneck-style cigarette-caused tooth decay miasma of proportions not seen since Faces Of Meth. If both parties wake up at the same time, that uncomfortable awkwardness of the realization usually results in a conversation along the lines of:

Ugh. What time is it?”


In the morning?”

I have to get to work.”

It’s Sunday.”



I have to get to work. I’ll call you.”

Hurried location of clothing, buttons half left undone, then a swiftly written fake phone number, a pause by the door to look back longingly (which is actually a mental note never to drink and fuck again), and scarper to wherever it was you think you left the car.

That’s if both parties wake at the same time.


This could be you on The Morning After...

The alternative is one of them (preferably you) wakes first, and notices the harridan next to them has breath that could chemically castrate a Catholic priest, looks like a small moon just crashed into the Earth, has a physical deformity they thought was sexually exciting less than 12 hours ago, and desperately tries to extricate themselves before the other party wakes. There’s no phone number left, often not even any kind of evidence at all that you were there save a skid mark on the sheets or a used condom wrapper (with the condom often still inside, because Ansell are bastards at making condoms fucking impossible to get up and running when your fingers feel like tree trunks) lying embarrassingly in the middle of the floor.


There. Is. No. Escape.

I can’t claim to have ever been in that situation, mind you. I’ve only garnered this opinion from what I’ve seen on television, read about thanks to tabloid journalism (yay the British press!) or seen happen to friends I’ve known through the years. I did try a drunken session with my wife once…. so I avoided the unpleasant Beer Goggles in the Bar scenario, but since she was sober it made for a less-than-satisfactory performance that evening, let me tell you. No, I don’t mind admitting it. Drunken Sex is funny to watch, but not that funny to go through personally. It can be a debilitating ego-killer, and it can get very, very messy. Sex should be messy in a good way, not in a drunken spewgasm after fornicating like two morphine addicted elderly folks trying to copulate over a zimmer frame: the sweaty, sheet ripping, pillow destroying, Lady Gaga-styled antics of a normal session in the bedroom should involve almost complete recall of the event, not a blank stare when mention is made of it around the water cooler the next morning.

Just remember that when you’re staring down the barrel of a hot night of passion with some wanton drunken skank you just met – even at The Bar None – drunken sex can be a vile, life-altering experience from which there is no forgetting the horror of – gasp – the morning after.

Guinness Will Save Your Life

Here's A Poster Foreshadowing Wismond

Here i am trying to barrel through my post-partyin’ depression with a scoop.

A ragga shot from the juiced-box should help: Delly Ranks & Chino – Redbull and Guinness

[Press ‘Play’ to Ragga out]

Many news sources reported yesterday that Wismond Exantus, a 24-year-old Haitian cashier in a hotel convenience store, survived 11 days buried under the rubble of the Hotel Napoli. His secret to survival? Within arm’s reach of where he lay was a stash of cola, junk food and…Guinness. i know your average news outlets are only peddling ‘beer’, but i have it on good authority (a television news broadcast here in Yemen) that the beer of choice was Guinness.

Here then, is my tribute to this nectar of the Irish Gods.

Click On Image For Wallpaper Size

Phone Photo Blog: A Typical Day

Before we get started, here’s a tune from the juiced-box:

Nora Jones covering Willie Nelson’s “I Gotta Get Drunk”:

[Press ‘Play’ to feel the buzz]

Just Typical

As all y’all have been following my Twitter page religiously, you’ve noticed that last Friday’s binge (here’s the blog i posted while buzzing so loud i couldn’t hear myself drink) threw me into a depression hangover tail spin that i’m only now just recovering from. Rather turning into the skid mark, as recommended by 3 out of 4 Drinkers Education Teachers, i’ve decided to hop onto the wagon for a limited bad trip. The goal i’ve set myself is to stay dry until the day after Christmas. Don’t worry, i’ll be boring you to beers with regular updates on my progress/regression (depends what end of the bottle you’re on).

It’s not easy, as anyone who’s tried can tell you. One of the tough things about not imbibing are the constant reminders i come across in a typical day. It’s kinda like the dumped guy who walks around seeing the face of the girl who broke his heart in everything he sees.

Here’s what i mean…

What i See In The Newspaper

How To Snort Wine


On The Street

When One Hour Isn't Enough

A Reminder Of One i Coulda Had

Reminders Of Ones i Coulda Had


[For a definition of ‘Yeawomen’ check out AlKHall-hics: A Glossary]

It's A Well Known Fact Yeawomen Have Nice Butts (i think even Wiki says so)

Yeawomen Are Sexy When They Drink Alone

On Top Of It All Off…

…tonight there was a retirement party for a guy at work and the champagne was all-you-can-drink. i had an orange juice. That i picked the wrong week to go for a couple stops on the wagon is kinda the point of this post. Any and every week is the wrong week.

The Reasons i Drink #4: Vacation In A Bottle

Al K Hall Bottled Up

My Ticket To Ride

From the Bar None juiced-box:

[Press ‘Play’ to take off]

Here’s Really Why i Drink

People take vacations to get away from it all.

They spend thousands of dollars to stress themselves out with packing the bags, remembering the tickets, wondering how they’ll get to the airport, if they’ll get there on time, if there bags aren’t too heavy and they’ll have to pay an extra charge. They wait in lines to stand in line at check-in counters / security posts / boarding gates and they fly to a place that’s overpriced and the weather is iffy and the food isn’t good and they get all kinds of runs and come back home so sick and tired of being away from it all that they look forward to working for another five years just to save up enough for the next get-away-from-it-all trip.

D.R.I.N.K.E.R.s and members of the D-Generation, for 6 bucks you can drink a bottle of wine that’ll give you all the escape without any of the hassle. You can fly anytime you want and you’ll never leave the ground. You can completely forget about your bank miscount and the kids’ grades and the chores left half-undone. A one-way ‘trip’ is as far as the fridge or nearest 7-11. Even better, the mental break is cheaper and more relaxing than a ‘real’ family vacation.

You don’t even need to be good at math to figure that one out.

A Smoke

Here are the Kid Rock lyrics:

Kid Rock – Wasting Time

I’m a pimp, you can check my stats
And rollin’ a Fleetwood that’s how I mack
I rock all the tracks, so the world knows
I love all the girls smack all the hoes
Show love to those who come real with it
Life’s a bitch but I deal with it
I’m in it to win it like Yzerman
Can drink about 15 Heinekins
I’m not born again but if I was
I’d ask to come back with a little more love
Puffin’ a Winston, drinkin’ a 4-0
Kid Rock and I’m a let you know

I’ve been sitting here just wastin’ time drinking, smoking, thinking, trying to free
my mind
I’ve been Sitting here just wastin’ time drinking, smoking, trying to free my mind

It’s been a couple of months in this smoky room
Eatin’ shrooms, drinking Boone’s
Writin’ tunes and hoping to get
One of these motherfucking songs to hit
A little bit of love that’s all I need
A little inspiration and a bag of weed
A seed to plant so my tree can grow
You know I left my girl cause I don’t need that–
hold up wait a minute I’m about to flow
Like a breeze through the trees you can watch me blow
Puffin’ a Winston, drinkin’ a 4-0
Kid Rock and I’m a let you know

I’ve been Sitting here just wastin’ time drinking, smoking, thinking, trying to free
my mind
I’ve been sitting here just wastin’ time drinking, smoking, trying to free my mind
Oh yeah
Oh yeah
Free my mind… Ooohhh yeah

I ain’t no rough guy, ain’t no tough guy
Don’t get out much, and don’t dress up fly
A pawn in the game that’s all I am
Givin’ all my duckets to Uncle Sam fuck it
I’m free to do what I please little lady
I was born at night but not last night baby
I’ve been around, seen some things
I’ve slept in dumpsters, got high with kings
I don’t bring much, ain’t got a lot to say
But I got more time then Morris Day
Puffin’ a Winston, drinkin’ a four-oh
Kid Rock and I’m a let you know

I’ve been sitting here just wastin’ time drinking, smoking, thinking, trying to free my mind

I been Sitting here just wastin’ time drinking, smoking, trying to free my mind

I’ve been sitting here just wastin’ time drinking, smoking, thinking, trying to free my mind

Tryin’ to free my mind

I’ve been Sitting here just wastin’ time drinking, smoking, trying to free my mind
iv’e been sitting here….smokin…drinkin’…tryin’ to free my mind
I’ve been sitting here just wastin’ time…drinking, smoking, trying to free my mind