The Green Fairy Has My Eight Ball

He told me I smelled so nice
And asked what scent I was wearing,
I call it humid nights and exhaust fumes.
It's a certain kind of burn.
He poured me a drink,
It looked like toxic waste.
I'll remember it as The Green Fairy.
It's a certain kind of burn.
He dropped some of his eight ball in
And said "don't worry about a kickback,"
And sat down next to me.
It's a certain kind of burn.
We got to comprehending as much as we could,
But there isn't intellect in shattered glass.