The Little Drinking Imp

My mum’s family is from Ireland
maybe that’s how I got the curse.
The one that they are famous for,
that legendary Irish thirst.

But my dad’s dad was a  drinker,
and he was from Stoke On Trent.
I’ve heard he sang, and danced on tables,
in every pub he went.

It’s always been part of my thinking,
and at times it can get rough.
Whenever I start drinking,
I’ve never had enough.

I’ll drink till I’m unconscious,
make a fool out of myself.
It doesn’t do much for my confidence,
or my physical and mental health.

I just can’t seem to fight it,
in my mind is a thirsty, little imp.
He leaps around and gets excited,
whenever I start to drink.

He keeps on calling for more and more,
and he never, ever stops.
He says things that I can’t ignore,
and keeps on until I drop.

I’ve got to find a way to kill him,
or gain the strength of mind
to show that I am willing
to leave him far behind.

I’ve got to kill the little shit,
show him that it’s over.
Show him I can’t be messed with,
show that I can stay sober.