Too Much Butterbeer: Stubby Boardman

Too much Butterbeer.
Christmas.
Too much Firewhisky.
New Year's.
I feel the Butterbeer sliding right down my throat
- just like butter.
And the Firewhisky, it's filled up my gut
- just like whisky.
And all the kids say, “Stubby, how come
You don't hang round no more?”

Too much Butterbeer.
Christmas.
And this is where all the girls sing,
They sing “Butterbeer.”
Ah, it sounds so pretty with all the girls.
C'mon.
Too much Butterbeer.
“Butterbeer.”
Christmas.
Too much Butterbeer.
“Butterbeer.”
Christmas.
And all the girls say, “Stubby, how come
You don't come round no more?”

Too much Butterbeer.
Christmas.
Too much Firewhisky.
New Year's.
Then I kissed the glass,
Just like a Christmas angel,
And the glass it kissed me back with interest.
And all the angels say, “Stubby, will you get
Your hand off us?!”

Too much Butterbeer.
Christmas.
Too much Firewhisky.
New Year's.
And the bottle sings a siren song from the bar.
And the sonnets sings his sweeter (??)
And all the bartenders say,
“Stubby, how come You're always here?!”

Too much Butterbeer.
Christmas.
Too much Butterbeer.
Christmas.
Too much Butterbeer.
Christmas.
Too much Butterbeer.
Christmas