Shane rifles through purses
And dreams of wet nurses
While women grow faint at the thought

And, he drools as he spits
More like alcohol fits
Trace his slime trail on back to his 'bode

Through mullety grease
His mind is at peace
'Cause his 'ploits got him through 'nother day

Soon snoring again
T'ill tomorrow's refrain
With dreams of port bottles and "bud"