Miller
Sung to "Thriller"


It's close to game time
I'll pop open a cold and frosty brew
And while I'm drinking
I'm thinking how my team is gonna do
Now is the time
When all my friends will huddle close together
Balls on the line
The game's sold out and there is perfect weather
One thing to do

Let's grab a Miller
Miller Lite
I love those great commercials where they argue, fuss, and fight
Miller
Miller Lite
I'm hiding from my life inside a bottle, bottle tonight

I grab a cold can
And realize my stock is down to one
I see that my hand
Is shaking like a finger on a gun
My mind's a blur
I'm fighting off these paranoid delusions
The words I slur
Are sounding like the chatter of a fool
Look at me drool

'Cause I drink Miller
Miller Lite
I love to guzzle down the brew that gets me real tight
Miller
Miller Lite
I'm hiding from my life inside a bottle, bottle tonight

Halftime is here so I'll grab me a beer
From the 'Frigerade
I've had a few while I've been here with you
And I'm fine
Don't ask me to walk a straight line
I keep on falling
So I resort to crawling down the hall
And as I'm drinking
I'm thinking if I'll make it home at all
I start to drive
And everyone is looking like a stranger
It's close to five
And I'm really unaware of all the danger
I wish I could see

'Cause I drink Miller
Miller Lite
It cures my thirsty feeling be it morning, noon, or night
Miller
Miller Lite
So let me get real tight and drink my
Miller, Miller, Miller, Miller here tonight
Yes we drink Miller
Miller Lite
We love those great commercials where they argue, fuss, and fight
Miller
Miller Lite
We're hiding from our lives inside a bottle, bottle tonight

Darkness falls across the land
And Happy Hour is close at hand
Humans stroll in search of brew
To patronize a pub or two
And whosoever shall be found
Without the gut for guzzling down
Must stand and pay the tab that's due
For drinking up the barman's brew

A barley stench is in the air
The funk of forty-thousand beers
And drunken fools from every room
Are staggering in to fill your gloom
And though you fight to sober up
Your hands, they start to quivver
For no inebriate can resist
The brewskie known as Miller

Copyright © 1985 by C.Hammett