Said one Old Fashioned, one Piña Colada,
one for my wife, she's home in Boca.
I slide the whiskey, amber and neat,
he squints at the glass like it's something to eat.
He goes, What's this? I go,
That's the Piña Colada! — he believed me!
He takes a sip and announces to the bar:
My wife isn't gonna like this!
Sir, you ordered the whiskey,
you said the words, your confidence is hanging with the merlot.
you turned my deadpan into gospel,
clap-clap. It's bourbon, bitters, a cherry so chic — not a coconut
dream for your wife's beach week.
What's this? That's the Piña Colada!
— he believed me! Sips the whiskey deadpan,
tells the whole bar: My wife isn't gonna like this!
Fake ending — drum stop — I almost apologized.
Then the tuba came back and the bar replied:
Sir, it's fruity for NOBODY — But go on,
take one more sip and say it proud:
My wife isn't gonna like this!
