I used to be a butcher, handy with a knife.

But I drank too much, too often,

And didn't have a life.

I cut fine steaks, I cut nice chops,

And fine thin fillets;

But I could not cut off the booze,

And always went astray.

Still I kept up at the meetings, kept on coming back,

Until I met this fella, they called him, “Sober Jack.”

So I asked Jack, “What's my problem, booze still has a pull.”

And Jack said I should take my knives and cut out all the bull.