Now, I will be accused of ripping off this song.nPathetic journalists will say, Oh! Leonard Coen!nBut good people, let me tell you how it came to me.nI was vacationing with the son of Leonard C. nThe night before our journey, we began to drink. nWe finished off the bottle. Our breath stank worse than a Greek's.nWe stole into his father's den, and reached inside a trunk,nSquaring up some argument 'bout failings the son flunks. nAdam had a sheet of paper, scratched out his father's name.nHe handed it to me, said, This will bring you fame.nHe said he must be going. The morning's drawing near. nI put the song inside the bottle and I always keep it near. nnAdam, Adam, Adam, why'd you make a thief of me? nThis will only darken my many feelings.nNow I'm always taken to the corners of the room. nIf I'm not a contact, I might slip right past my door.nnNow I've got fame and fortune, women out the door. nTake careful drinks from this bottle 'cause it will cut for sure. nThe social clubs, they fawn and circle around me. nThey laugh at all my jokes as they share with me my drink.nI ride around in limos, my career is going fine.nI drink with the driver. We draw cards on who will drive.nI bought myself a luxury, a painting by Cris Moss,nNeedful things, leather-bound books, Tom Petty's old guitar.nI turn over the bottle, put what's left inside into my pen.nI send Adam a post card from every place I've been. nThe pope he was kind enough to give me audience. nHe blessed me as his child and I drunk the blood with him. nnThis song, it has proven to be my provider. nI take a drink, I rarely eat, I sing my bread and butter.nI spilled my drink as I raise my bottle for another cheer.nIt spilled over my lips and I could taste my sinful tears.nnNow it is years later and the critics are aboard. nSay my words I rearrange over the seven chords,nSo Adam I return to you. I need my bottle refilled.nWhen I told him of my journey, in my throat there lodged a pill. nSeems Adam's father heard my song, he said, That kid's not bad.nBut Adam fell upon his knees, confessed all to his dad. nHis father hugged his shoulder blade, said Forgive. Forget.nThey watered down the songs I sing by drinking one to it.nNow I'm sucking on a rock just to quench my thirst.nIf I threw it at the bottle, I know the bottle would not burst. nMy hands are womanly and soft, not chafing from this work.nThe last time that I broke a sweat was from that song about it.nThe papers say I'm washed up and no longer have the touch.nHe will not far too much on his sinful crutch.nNow I must find another who will drink me.nI'm thinking of one person...nnNancy, Nancy, Nancy, your father sure could sing. nWalk your boots on over, and take a drink with me. nI will get her point of the common sense.nI will subtley imply her father's disappointedment.nShe'll take my empty bottle, get up and leave the room,nReturn with the bottle full, eager to hear me croon. nThe critics all will say, Oh, what a common hack!nI was always on your side. Let's celebrate and toss one back.nMy thick uncultured hand has learned my ways are the ways of old men.nMy northern blood is turning cold, chilled from drinking my sin.nUnderneath the wine-stained page, my own soul won't creep through.nI guess I will find another. What's a man to do? nnI will make a list of children who have the rebels' bend.nWhen they drink with me, I'll suggest revenge. nMaybe there are others who will drink with yours true. nRufus Wainwright, watch out, boy. I'm coming after you. nnDrink motherfucker, Drink mother fucker, drink.nDrink motherfucker, Drink mother fucker, drink.n(repeated until end of song)