OK, I'll put in what I've got; the verses have a part a and a part b, and they don't seem to suggest that a certain part a goes with a certain part b, for the most part, so to speak. This song is from Loudon Wainwright III "Album III", the one with the notorious "Dead Skunk in the Middle of the Road", which I like very much. It's a highly uneven album (which I have on vinyl, not doing me any good at the moment since my stereo won't accomodate a turntable); some of the songs are very lightweight and some are wonderful.
What I'd like is to find out if someone can confirm what I've heard, fill in any holes, and verify which parts go together. Hopefully, some friendly Joe Clone can put in the line breaks for me.

Drunk men stagger, drunk men fall,/
Drunk men puke, and that's not all,/
Quite often, they will urinate outdoors./
Like widowed women, drunk men weep,/
Like children curled up, drunk men sleep,/
Like a dog, a drunk will crawl around on all fours./
But drink a toll will take,/
Blood vessels in the nose will break,/
Bags beneath the eyes, another sign./
Drunks will drink, and so it seems/
That drunkards go to great extremes,/
But there is yet to be a perfectly straight line./

Drunks are happy when they're drunk,/
And drunks are angry when they're drunk/
Which drunk it is, it all depends upon/
When drunks aren't drunk, they thirst for drink,/
And the elephants are grey, not pink;/
When the drink evaporates, the man is gone/
Back to the hip flasks and the fruit jars,/
The yachts and the subway cars,/
Flat on the back or flat on the behind./
Drunks get ugly, so it seems/
That drunkards go to great extremes,/
But there is yet to be a perfectly straight line./

Drunks talk strong, but drunks are weak;/
It's easy for a drunk to speak/
Straight from the heart./
Yes, and drunks will fight; they're not afraid,/
They'll kiss the mistress and make the maid;/
It's a manly art./
Be he broke bum or rich rake,/
His breakfast, be it bread or cake,/
His beverage be the worst of whiskey or finest wine./
Puke, it stinks, and so it seems/
That drunkards go to great extremes,/
But there is yet to be a perfectly straight line./

Upon writing out what I know, I find I was wrong about the first verse. Pleasant or not, I consider this song to be one of the best any modern American songwriter has ever produced, right up there with Jimmy Webb, Mose Allison, and Randy Newman, all national treasures as far as I'm concerned.