Ben Franklin Mob H3

Oh the whiskey is floating won’t stay in me glass
I’m weightless and spinning and drunk off me ass
Oh the whiskey is floating in a sphere o’er me head
If we don’t clear this wormhole we’re surely be dead

(Chorus:)
So reach for the whiskey boys reach for the stars
They won’t stop us drinking on Venus or Mars
So reach for the whiskey boys reach for the sky
For the vacuum of space sucks the bottles all dry

Oh infinite booty awaits us in space
We’ll pillage and plunder with fervor and grace
That’s what my astronomical unit is for
Let’s party where no one has partied before

(Chorus)

(Optional:)
Alone in the cockpit I gaze at the stars
I drink and I think of my home
(He thinks of his home)
Of my home

Our thrusters are the hottest that you’ve ever felt
They might just unbuckle your asteroid belt
We’re honing our moonwalking skills as we speak
We’ll dance on Uranus by this time next week