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I went down to a party on a Saturday night

And I woke up on a Sunday feeling alright

I was sufficiently pickled

And now my liver is tickled

I went back to my diary, saw that nothing was on

From that Saturday night

When the feeling was right

To this Sunday morning

When the feeling was dawning

That Saturday night had gone on too long

And Sunday morning sung a terrible song

Of the story told

Of what went wrong

Of what happened when

Of what happened why

And figuring out

How many years had gone by

Sufficiently pickled

My confession is prickled

When you’re in it, you’re in it

There’s nothing I can say

You know that

You know that

You’ll do it any way