Text: Chitlins, Whiskey & Skirt. Increased Chances.

The population is greatly decreased
And now the odds are greatly increased
That I may someday get a chance to kiss your lips
I thank the Lord each day for the apocalypse

Folks are mostly disfigured or dead
But sugar, I won't let it go to my head
My mama's face has dripped down into the dirt
But I'm still chasing chitlins, whiskey and skirt