Oh, show me the way
To the next whiskey bar
Oh, don’t ask why
No, don’t ask why

Show me the way
To the next whiskey bar
Oh, don’t ask why
No, don’t ask why

For if we don’t find
The next whiskey bar
I tell you we must die
I tell you we must die
I tell you, I tell you
I tell you we must die

Oh, moon of Alabama
We now must say goodbye
We’ve lost our good old mama
Man must have whiskey, or you know why

Oh, moon of Alabama
We now must say goodbye
We’ve lost our good old mama
Man must have whiskey, or you know why

Oh, show me the way
To the next little girl
Oh, don’t ask why
Oh, don’t ask why

Show me the way
To the next little girl
Oh, don’t ask why
Oh, don’t ask why

For if we don’t find
The next little girl
I tell you we must die
I tell you we must die
I tell you, I tell you
I tell you we must die

Oh, moon of Alabama
We now must say goodbye
We’ve lost our good old mama
Man must have whiskey, or you know why

(Technically it’s a Bertold Brecht poem put to music by Kurt Wiell. As Brecht was a marxist, I think it’s about the decadence of America rather than a peon to underage girls and whisky.)