by Mark Gothard

Genre: Folk


The beer I drink, brings no cheer
And it’s awful painful, sitting here
With it over, at the end of the bar
My bud can’t help me, too big of a scar

The beer nuts laugh in my face
The tonic water refuses to chase
The whisky that plans to torch my throat
The rum doesn’t care calls me a joke

And I am lovesick, in the worst way
Sick of love, on this day

It wasn’t perfect that’s plain to see
And for all the fish in the deep blue sea
I chose you and you chose me
An act of imperfection to the nth degree

I didn’t make you better, I drove you mad
And for all the ghosts in your soul so sad
You returned the favor, behind my back
Lied about it, like a big old sack

And I am lovesick, in the worst way
Sick of love, on this day

I’ll pretend that I’m new
Forget that I’m blue
Deny what was true
Again, go back to you

But when I whip out the phone
To call you, while you roam
My pride stirs and moans
Too much sin to atone!

The Devil has won, won for now
And I’m sure you’re off gallivanting with that pal
Bartender please, I’ll take one more
Make it a double, heavy on the pour

Please, please, don’t tell me your blues
Cause if you sir were sitting in my shoes
You wouldn’t know what to do, defeated with this drink
Festering here in this particular stink

Cause I’m lovesick, in the worst way
Sick of love on this day

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