[Verse 1] Elbridge strolls in like the mayor of the dang place, Hangs his hat, says, “Welp, my evenin' was grand. Met a sweet gal in a vest with purple hair flowin’, Held my hand like we was tourin' the whole land. And we talked ‘bout poetry, the stars and such — Oh! She had the loveliest spots!” I said, “Bud, you're charming, but you’re stumblin’ drunk, And your Pooka girl just lives in your thoughts.” [Chorus] A Pooka ain’t real, it’s just whiskey and air, You’re courtin’ coat racks and flirtin’ with chairs. You claim she’s a knockout, feral and fine, But you know it’s the bourbon bendin’ your mind. So go on, old friend, paint your magical scene, 'bout that Pooka hyena in her torn-up jeans. [Verse 2] Next night he says, “We played eight-ball ‘til dawn, She chalked up my cue while she hummed in my ear. She kissed me mid-shot, near snapped my damn stick, And whispered somethin’ that’d melt you right here.” He grinned, “Then she belched so loud the lights flickered — My God, I love that sound.” I said, “Elbridge, you’re hopeless, she ain’t even there, But you talk like she’s queen of this town.” [Chorus] A Pooka ain’t real, it’s just whiskey and air, You’re waltzin’ with shadows and makin’ ‘em stare. You claim she’s an animal, snarlin' but sweet, But I think it’s the bourbon sweepin’ your feet. So pour one more round, but keep your tall tales clean, Of that Pooka hyena in her tattered jeans. [Verse 3] Third night he’s back, says, “We danced on the bar, She bit my ear, said I'm marinated meat. Ran her claw down my shirt, buttons all scattered, Then licked the Wild Turkey right off my cheek. Said she’d drag me out back where her fur sticks the wall, And her tail licks the concrete." I laughed, “Buddy, that’s a fever dream, But damn if it don’t sound sweet.” [Chorus] A Pooka ain’t real, it’s just whiskey and air, You're lustin' at ghosts, obviously impaired. You claim she’s a wild-child, spunky and slick, But I think it’s the bourbon playin' a trick. Go on, my friend, drain that bottle and preen, For your Pooka hyena in the frayed faded jeans. [Bridge] Went out back to take a piss by the bins, Half-empty moon spillin’ light on the bricks… And there’s Elbridge, pressed flat to the wall, While she’s ridin’ him like a goddamn stick... shift — Purple hair whippin’, teeth in his neck, Doin' the dirty in garbage and glass. And me standin’ there, zipper still down, Thinkin’, “Lord, I want me some of that trash.” [Final Chorus] Well, Pookas are real — I seen one last night, She was hot as a fever and ready to spike. If lovin’ a Pooka’s the way to get free, Pour me a shot and point her at me. So here’s to Elbridge, livin’ the dream, With that Pooka hyena in her ripped-up jeans. Well, if lovin' a Pooka's the way to get free... Pour me a shot...! And point her at me...!
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