What's the point in talking shit about the weather If it stops me drinking and feeling worse not better I try to hide the bills but they aren't going nowhere The telephone keeps calling, but cheap whisky says I don't care I get my kicks I keep buying it And I deal with shit Cuz I get my kicks at Hypervalue The weekend comes I stay at home My TV does the talking Same again I am on my own My mind does all the walking Someone called if I go out The drinks will come on credit The sound outside to good to hide I think I'll go out and get it Surrounded by the crap that I don't need Credit cards that make me bleed That's all I get in this town.