I want a Coca Cola

In a heavy dark green glass bottle,

with raised white script,

solid enough you could take a man

out with one blow,

and yeah, I ought to know,

shouldn’t I Pat Pierce?

I want it cold,

but an RC will do,

out of an icebox,

costing me a dime,

silver and thin,

all the way through,

no copper middle,

no fake shiny steel,

popping the cap out

with the wall mounted opener

drinking down a big cold burning draft

‘til my throat can’t take no more.

I feel a little sorry for myself

‘cause that time is gone,

like my grandpa,

like my mama,

but I feel more sorry for you,

‘cause you never was there

to even know.