The Poet Is Drunk, the Pen Is Not

With this napkin as my canvas A word picture I paint While he drowns out his sorrows Until he finally faints The best works he weaves Are when unconsciously drunk While sober and thinking He writes only junk While he flirts with the barmaid Thinking about the sword in his pants The sword in his right hand On this napkin words plant When he wakes with this poem Stuck to the side of his head He’ll read it and conclude He’s the genius instead Instead of getting credit For these words that I write It would be more correct to say written By Jack Daniels last night So why are the words Not slurred or mistyped Because while the lush was all trashed His pen was alright So barmaid pour another For this bum who holds me And let’s pray he uses his other hand When he has to go pee