That old man liver,
He must know something,
But don't say nothing,
He just keeps growing
He keeps on growing again.
He makes that bile,
He makes those hormones,
And when he’s tired
and soon forgotten,
That old man liver,
He just keeps growing again.
Big old liver keeps fighting that booze.
He stores, he sweats, he strains,
Body all aching, and racked with pain.
Make that bile
Don’t get drunk
or you land in hospice
Old man liver,
That old man liver,
He must know something,
But don't say nothing,
He just keeps growing
He keeps on growing again.
I am just glad that Paul Robeson can’t read this from the grave…