Well, I call you up on the phone - nobody's at home
Then I do my usual thing - I let the telephone ring and ring and ring and ring
I'm standing at a phone booth, coping with the ugly truth
You see, I know where you are, I know where you are
You're down drinking at the bar

I can picture you there on that stool, drinking like a drunken fool
Yeah, you're sitting there on your ass, muttering into your glass
Paying for your lowlife thrills with wet quarters and soggy one dollar bills
I know where you are, baby
You're down drinking at the bar

Dean Martin's on the jukebox, I bet
Or maybe it's Tammy Wynette
The tearjerkers are jerking your tears
Salt water in your whiskey and your beers
You've got the Miller High Life bouncing balls
You've got the Utica Club waterfalls

I know where you are, uh-huh
You're down...
You're down at the bar
You're down at the bar

Go ahead get drunk, it's alright
Lost weekend on a Tuesday night
But I'm going to have to give you the score
I'm not going to call you up on the telephone no more
I'm sick and tired of listening to that phone ring fifteen times
I'm sick and tired of getting back my dimes
Because I know what you are
You're at sot, that's what you are
I know what you are
You're a lush
You got a big red nose

I know where you are, baby
I know where you are
You're down drinking at the bar