I go down to the store,
but I can’t buy no more.
I don’t have an inch left
in that sagging fridge door.

Too many hot sauce blues,
so many ways to light my fuse.
Scares me to say,
some how some way,
every one of these gonna shine
on my back door some day.

This one’s kinda settled,
this one tastes like metal.
What was this old water-soaked soaked label?
I forget – ugh!

This one I stored,
this one I ignored.
Here’s a sticker saying
“I Support President Ford!”

Too many hot sauce blues,
I got the door open, trying to choose.
Trying to summon my will,
as I run up the bill.
Patting myself on the back
for every little bottle I kill.

Those wings got a coating,
my tacos are floating.
Playing with beans in a deep bowl of sauce,
thinking of boating.

Pour another one dry,
with each dinner I fry.
Take one to the office,
sit in the lunchroom, and cry.

Too many hot sauce blues,
So many troubles I gotta lose.
Folks think I’m insane
as I go through my pain.
But I know deep inside,
I can’t change.

From: Alex Silbajoris