Every evening, I’d go and sit,
By the roadside tar and grit.
Desiring a pint of something large and golden,
But still the traffic passed and rolled-on.
So I left my place by the road,
Packed my lunch and grabbed my load (careful!)
And went a-searching for a place,
Where chaps and lasses drank at a more leisurely pace.
The “Rambling Monk” appeared first,
A lost lonely place that failed to quench my thirst.
The barman and owner, a man named Seth.
I made a real faux-pas with his daughter Beth.
A fast run then to “The King’s Buttercup” ensued,
My lack of breath and sorry state accrued (looks).
Before my eyes a sight appeared,
But a second look confirmed…the barmaid had a beard!
Strolling on to “The Cumbersome Bluetit”,
I came across some navvies in a pit.
The wit and views soon became clear,
But it was sight of their butt-cracks that really put me off my beer.
I began to despair, where oh where could I satiate my need,
For the dark black pint of Irish creed?
Or look longingly at the perfect glass,
Of the golden liquid from the lower class?
And then a corner I did a-turn,
My eyes a-poppin’, my tongue a-burnin’.
My mid a-spinnin’, my taste-buds a-cravin’
Good God, my writing style’s a-wavering!
I’d found my dream pub, “The Crab & Sock”,
There it nestled, down by the old grey lock.
I saw my future flash before me,
A million pints, and no need to pee (well, a man can dream!)
And so I remained, my pennies on the bartop,
Amusing the ladies and telling the barman “Don’t stop!”
The day grew short, I sank to my knees,
Then the nightmare again…
”All right you lot…drink up…TIME PLEASE!”
(c) 2007, Neil Gardner