Poor Albert had passed out drinking
At Johansson’s Neighborhood Bar.
If his wife found out he’d been there,
He could expect one holy war!

He slid down off of his bar stool
And landed flat out on his face.
He mumbled that he must have tripped
On his blankety-blank shoe lace.

He pulled himself out through the door
And tried to stand up twice again.
He decided it was the beer,
That he had mixed in with his gin.

He managed to drag himself home
And up the three steps to his door.
He almost got to his bedroom;
His wife found him on the hall floor.

She screamed, “You’ve been down at the bar!”
He asked why she thought he was there.
“Johansson just gave me a call,
He said you forgot your wheelchair!”