A day is born, July the first
And with it comes a shock
John Barleycorn who quenched your thirst
Passed out at twelve o'clock
The mourners come from far and near
Their bitter tears to shed
July the first, prohibition's here
And alcohol is dead
Alcohol, alcohol
Sorry to see you go
Alcohol, alcohol
Oh, how we'll miss you so
Fare thee well, fare thee well
Place us in a padded cell
For the country's going to hell
Now that she's going dry, dry, dry
We hate to say goodbye
What are we going to do now?
What are we going to do?
Gone are the beer saloons
And we went with them too
The future now looks very black
Because the future points
To red neck-ties and tennis shirts
And sarsparilla joints
Where are we going to work now?
Maybe before we are through
We'll have to join the soda water crew
We'll have rouge upon our lips
And our hands upon our hips
Heaven help us when we do
Gee, but it's gonna be tough for the chorus ladies from now on
How are we going to wrestle a Rolls-Royce from a Jack or John?
A little bit of Haig and Haig while we were having sup
Would help to make the tightest Ebeneezer loosen up
But now it's gonna be tougher
Now we're going to suffer
Now that the town is growing dry
I want my beer, I want my beer
And there are no two ways about it
I want my beer, I want my beer
I won't do any work without it
The working man must have his can
To do his work from year to year
Oh, how I wish again
That I was a fish again
Swimming in an ocean of beer
So, this is the land of the free
That awoke when the U-boats were sinking
And told us to go o'er the sea
And protect her liberty
Now I'm just as true as can be
To my land, but I cannot help from thinking
That I should have stayed in Paree
Where no one dares to interfere with what you're drinking