5 minutes to showtime a gap in the horns,I just saw him this last hour, I could have sworn.Where the hell'd he get to that crazed, dodgy oaf?Is he tuning his toot? Is he pinching a loaf?Stomp into the back room and what do I seebut a pile of shark skin and flesh before me.Reeking of a combo of Night Train and Ginand then up peers a face with a sick, drunken grin.Oh what a sorry sight.(He's ruined, he don't know what he's doin')Will Skoochie be allright?Stumbles to the stage with his eyes all aglaze,30 sheets to the wind with his head in a haze.Strips down to his trousers and rips through a set24 hours later he'll probably forget.Minutes after showtime again disappearsso I run to the back room to hide all the beers.See him in a phone booth out cold, makin' Z's,Tenor Sax at his feet, vomit up to his knees.How the hell did he play?(He's ruined, he don't know what he's doin')Will he wake next day?*CHORUS*Blank memory, pounding head,cotton in his mouth and a monster in his bed.Praying to the porcelain godand wishing he was dead: SKOOCHIE'S RUIN!Comes to the next morning with a low, painful groanas he tries to break free from last night's twilight zone.Takes a glance to his side and questions in fright"Who's this lump in my bed? What did I do last night?"Streaks into the bathroom, anxiety high,"When'd I tattoo my a**? How'd I get that black eye?"Drinking to oblivion can be such a b***.He's learned his lesson at least 'til next Friday night.Oh what a sorry sight.(He's ruined, he don't know what he's doin')Will Skoochie be all right?*CHORUS*