[Genre: Ska-punk] [Vocal: Male lead vocal, single performer doing multiple voices; theatrical delivery, sharp articulation, playful tone] [Structure: Continuous verses with short instrumental breaks; no long intro or outro] [Tempo: Fast (around 110–120 BPM)] [Length: Target ~3:40–4:00] [Verse 1] Brain says: Alert, team! We’ve got spirits incoming! Vodka, rum — this human’s brimming! It’s a full-on siege, no time to slack! Liver, spleen — prepare for attack! [Verse 2] Liver answers: Copy that! Deploy enzymes with flair! Glutathione’s low, but we’ll manage, I swear. I’ve been here since his student years, Filtering poison, blood, and beers. [Verse 3] Stomach growls: I warned him with nausea, even pain, But he tossed in tequila again! I’m bubbling acid, I’m not a joke! One more shot and I might just choke! [Verse 4] Pancreas grumbles: Hey Brain, I’m frying over here, Sugar spike’s pushing me into fear. Insulin’s flooding like a tidal wave — Tell this dude I’m not his slave! [Verse 5] Kidneys chime in: We’re flushing hard, it’s all a stream, Diluted dreams and creatine. Someone tell him: hydrate or drop, We can’t filter beer without a stop! [Verse 6] Ethanol declares: Banished for a week — I’m back with pride! Cheers to chaos! Let's take a ride. A toast to blackout, guilt, regret, I’m the king — don’t you forget! [Verse 7] Aldehyde Dehydrogenase mutters: Not him — it’s me who takes the hit. Virgo vs. that stinky goat — no fit. Oxidizing all his liquid doom, While he dances naked across the room. [Verse 8] Heart pounds in: BPM’s rising! Pressure’s a mess! Brain, we’re close to cardiac distress! He’s yelling “freedom,” tearing his vest — Is this a rave or cardiac test? [Verse 9] Brain snaps: Activate cytochrome four-fifty now! This guy’s singing to his cat and a plow. He’s claiming enlightenment from a bee... Dopamine’s gone — set serotonin free! [Verse 10] Liver moans: I'm done, I'm fried, I'm turning gray. How ‘bout you all take shots today? I need a break, maybe some tea... Or at least one sober night for me. [Verse 11] Brain concludes: He’ll crawl through shame, swear off sin, Till next weekend drags him in. But maybe this time — fingers crossed — He won’t drink like he’s got a liver to toss.
