A fifth of whiskey and a tattoo shop,
Repeated seven times, had this result:
Each guy had a tornado that "don't stop"
Aswirl upon his forearm. Yes, exult,
Young men, but don't you -- oh, we are too late!
The fist pumps, in a ring of manly glee
Released into the atmosphere a great
And mighty storm, from which we all must flee!
Three cities are in ruins now from its
Unholy rampage. "Do you even lift?"
We hear as it tears through, and never quits.
"You mad?" As though destruction were a gift
We seem not to appreciate. At last
The alcohol is wearing off -- and fast!