Doing the Gas-Soaked Rag

(Jauntily, to any kind of tune)

Twelve-hour days and working every weekend
I finally snapped and hollered at my boss.
Lost my job and lost my health insurance.
Spent Christmas Eve just huffing on some cloth.

I feigned a couple panic attacks
then spent my 20s zonked on Xanax.
One day I'll laugh about
doing the gas-soaked rag.

Missing the vacations and the paychecks
but Blue Cross was the best part of my job.
I was such a fan of Roche and Pfizer;
and now I suck on scarves under my Saab.

Now I see fireworks all evening long.
Who cares if my skin smells like Techron?
Everyone's happy now
doing the gas-soaked rag.

I know the FDA won't be too happy.
I think my two front teeth are coming loose.
Fire the folks who make all of those downers
now I'm riding on the huff train's big caboose.

Hey, Abbott Labs, I ain't gonna share --
look, something's leaking from that Bel Air!
Everyone's passing out
doing the gas-soaked rag,
chewing a grass-smoked flag,
wooing a rash-stroked slag,
screwing a half-coked fag.