My Blood Type Is Whiskey-2

“Oh, I don’t bleed red, brother… mine pours slow, and burns.” (guitar slides in with a ghostly bend, then a heavy kick-stomp beat starts)

My blood type is whiskey, It runs through my veins. Every drop is fire, Every shot’s my name.

The doctor said, “Son, you’re half a man,” But the bottle made me whole again. Silver cross can’t cure this thirst, I was born baptized in amber first.

Test me, break me, cut me deep, It won’t be red that you’ll see bleed. Truth ain’t clean, it burns like sin, This whiskey blood don’t wash away within.

No saint, no savior, no holy hymn, Just smoke-filled lungs and a bottle of gin. But whiskey’s the gospel I understand, It steadies my soul and it steadies my hand.

My blood type is whiskey, It’s the only cure I’ve known. If I die with a bottle, I won’t die alone.

(Whispered under the riff:) Amber veins, a sinner’s creed… Pour me out, watch me bleed.

My blood type is whiskey, Don’t matter what they say. I’ll ride with the bottle, Till it takes me away.

“Don’t check my pulse, check the glass.”

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