Stop trying to pretend that
You are going to stop
You're either a smoker or you're not
You will keep on smoking
For the rest of your life
And then you'll get cancer
And then you'll die
I can stop whenever I please
And anyway
I'm immune to emphysema
And heart disease
My diary says tomorrow is
The day I quit and
I'm going to stick with that
I'll work my way down to
The end of this pack
I'm leaving this place
I'm never coming back again
Little itches need no stitches
But they bury you
If you keep in scratching
You'll go right through
Whiskey for the amputee is
Just the thing to ease the sting
I'll work my way down to
The end of this pack
I'm leaving this place
I'm never coming back again
I've got a list
Of things to get round to
I've got a list
Of all the things I shouldn't do
I know it by heart
I've got the damn thing in my pocket
But despite myself
It's the middle of the night and
I am round your house again
Trying to pretend that I am going to stop
I'm either a smoker or I'm not
You will keep on smoking
For the rest of my life, and don't I know it
My favourite fatal weakness
I'll work my way down to
The end of this pack
I'm leaving this place
I'm never coming back again
I'll work my way down
To the end of this pack
And then I'll leave this place and
I'm never coming back
And I'll see you around, somewhere in town
Next time I'm down, probably right here