Smoke! Smoke! Smoke! (That Cigarette)

Now I'm a fellow with a heart of gold
With the ways of a gentleman I've been told
A kind of guy that wouldn't even harm a flea
But if me and a certain character met
The guy that invented the cigarette
I'd murder that son of a gun in the first degree

That ain't that I don't smoke myself
And I don't reckon they'll hinder your health
I've smoked 'em all my life and I ain't dead yet
But nicotine slaves are all the same
At a pheasant party or a poker game
Everythin's gotta stop while you have that cigarette

Smoke, smoke, smoke that cigarette
Puff, puff, puff, 'til you smoke yourself to death
Tell St. Peter at the Golden Gate
That you hate to make him wait
But you just gotta have another cigarette

Now at a game of chance the other night
Ol' Dame Forson wasn't doin' me right
And the kings and queens just kept on comin' around
Well, I got a full and I bet it high
But my bluff didn't work on a certain guy
He just kept on risin' and layin' his money down
Ah, he raise me and I'd raise him
I sweated blood, you got to sink or swim
And he finally called and couldn't raise the bet
I said, "Aces is full, pal, how 'bout you?"
He said, "I'll tell you in a minute or two
But right now, I just gotta have another cigarette"

Smoke, smoke, smoke that cigarette
Puff, puff, puff, 'til you smoke yourself to death
Tell St. Peter at the Golden Gate
That you hate to make him wait
But you just gotta have another cigarette

Well, the other night, I had me a date
With the cutest little fang and fifty states
One of them highbred, uptown, fancy little dames
She said she loved me and it seemed to me
The things were just about like they oughta be
So hand in hand we strolled down Lover's Lane
She was, oh, so far from a chunk of ice
And our smoochin' party was a goin' real nice
So help me Ana, I think I don't been there yet
I give her a kiss and a little squeeze
And she said, "Willie if you excuse me, please
I just gotta have another cigarette"

Smoke, smoke, smoke that cigarette
Puff, puff, puff, 'til you smoke yourself to death
Tell St. Peter at the Golden Gate
That you hate to make him wait
But you just gotta have another cigarette