Mescaline, mescaline, that’s my tipple of toxin.
Bit pretentious, mine’s an Amaretto on the rocks.
A book will give you all you need simpers the tiny reader on the aperitif woman’s head.
Bite hard on a porcupine, crumple it up and squeeeze out its poison onto your lips booms the Lion.
I like a concertina when it sings, steams the anvil man behind his mask of glass.
By Alan McCormick & Jonny Voss.