"To me drinking nev-nev-never seemed to be an iss-iss-issue.
Captain Morgan never had issues with how much an ounce was.
Raising my hand to a glass, maybe it's right there.
I'll let you know when to stop, when I say when...
Don't you dare judge me!
I am a man of riches with a $200 bottle; let's keep the arguement classy.
The way I see it, things are crystal clear.
The secret contained would have left the bottle half full.
Like a teenage relationship 'it's not you, it's me,'
but no, this time it is you.
It's you Mr. Anti-alcohol; it's you Ms. Madd; it's you
because it definitely cannot be me.
It's you, the one who labels me
the drunkard, the monster, drowning in my own happiness.
Yet how many anti drinking ads get thrown at my hands before my kids recognize that isn't me.
I swear it's better drunk than to watch those horror films sober.
It's better to stumble blindly than stare at the devils' reflection in the TV.
I know I'm dealing with a lost identity but in no way is that me.
Like a freshman in college you are so bold and naive that you misjudge character
as you categorize, organize, stereotype and place my face in a statistic; no we are all different.
I am as full as humanity, flourishing with age; I am not your 5 cent wine.
I will not be treated as such because I am Rosay worth more than a dime.
Artfully crafed, I've spent my entire life becoming who I am.
And I will sit on the top shelf overlooking those who don't see the value in virture.
I refuse to become a means to your end.
The ends you seek I cannot provide.
Is alcoholism a fault entirely my own?
Rewind your efforts because no one party's alone.
It's them, the masquerade goers and beach party hosts.
There they are, the root of the barley, the vine of the grape.
Combat their Utopia and not the image of my face,
because the culture you fear is the culture you are raising.
Through the demons you portray, you label me as inhumane.
However, as the children watch wondering, they become
the children you fear to raise. Unintentionally, they will grow
in curiosity and, when my time is done, fill the role left to be played."
There they are, the root of the barley, the vine of the grape.
Combat their Utopia and not the image of my face,
because the culture you fear is the culture you are raising.
Through the demons you portray, you label me as inhumane.
However, as the children watch wondering, they become
the children you fear to raise. Unintentionally, they will grow
in curiosity and, when my time is done, fill the role left to be played."
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