Apathy sets in.
Off we go
to the playground of sin.
Bourbon Street
all aglow.
Drunkards and strippers
roam to and fro.
From Bar A to Club B
we shimmy and shake,
and after four hours
our bellies do quake.
For alcohol? No.
Something much keener.
We set out in search
of a big, tasty wiener.
One block, then two.
We need to be fed.
There it is! The beckoning cart,
bright yellow and red.
We pass over our cash,
we sing and we cheer,
'Cause we're stuffing a Lucky Dog
On top of our Big Ass Beer.
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