Worst at the Best of Times - Duke Special

You’re the best of singers with whiskey and wine

You play your part to perfection

They wake you up and tell you it’s time for bed

But there is no question of letting this run any more

The cigarette’s burning your fingers

There’s too much wine on the floor

And more, and more, and more

You’re the best, the worst, the best

Now move, you’ve made a great art of wasting your time

You’re the national treasure for madness

But birds that sing without leaving their trees

Are prone to delusional grandness

And don’t let this run anymore

Come down from your branch while you’re able

There’s too much blood on the floor

And more, and more, and more

You’re the best, the worst, the best

Get up, get up, get up, get up, get up, get up

Get up, get up, get up, get up, get up, get up

Get up, get up, get up, get up, get up, get up

Get up, get up, get up, get up, get up, get up

Get up, get up, get up, get up, get up, get up

Get up, get up, get up, get up, get up, get up

Get up, get up, get up, get up, get up, get up

Get up, get up, get up, get up, get up, get up, get up

You’re the best, the worst, the best

You’re the best, the worst, the best

You’re the best, the worst, the worst at the best of time

Ooh, ooh, ooh, ooh, ooh