Whiskey, whiskey
No ice in my whiskey, please

The plane lurches
My stomach flips and I
Look to the cabin crew for
Signs of concern
But they don't give much away

I am an Ulster man
A goddamn liberal
A man of reason
Oh the little things we tell ourselves
To give us back a
Bit of meaning
I mean God's been dead for a while

So if there's nowhere for our
Souls to go then
I don't want to be so sober, so

Whiskey, whiskey
No ice in my whiskey please

Wouldn't take a genius to
Work it out
I've had my fair share of
Conversations with
Twisted metal and
Broken glass
Well if lightings gonna strike me twice
This time I'm gonna do it right

Whiskey, whiskey
No ice in my whiskey please

Whiskey, whiskey
No ice in my whiskey please
I ain't gonna die sober

The plane lurches
My stomach flips and I
Look to the cabin crew for
Signs of concern