The Bardstown Bender
Bandit breaks into bourbon distillery. Paramedics revive the trash panda after a 190-proof party.
Copper pot’s bubbling, the moon is rising high.
There’s a fuzzy little shadow with a twinkle in its eye.
He didn’t want the kibble, he didn’t want the corn,
He wanted that Kentucky fire since the day that he was born.
He jimmied up the window, bypassed the steel lock,
Now he’s swimming in the mash, three sheets around the clock.
Licking up the spilled proof, losing all his motor skills,
Found him face down in the grains, higher than the Bluegrass hills.
Oh, the Bourbon Raccoon’s seeing double in the dark,
He took a shot of history and missed the literal mark.
From the barrel to the gurney, yeah he’s living for the thrill,
The drunkest little bandit in the town of Bardstown Hill.
Clear!
Hit the chest, get the oxygen flowing,
His little paws are twitching but he’s nowhere near going.
Paramedics screaming, “Buddy, breathe for the grain!”
He woke up asking for a chaser and a window pane.
He’s banned for life from the Jim Beam tour.
Next time, stick to the dumpster, kid.
Pure Kentucky gold, baby.