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The Poxy Boggards
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Bring Us More Beer
There is no stronger tie
Between man and nature
Than the one that resides
In a keg of good beer.
Oh, the barley and rye or hops
Noble in stature,
Our thoughts are divided
Over which is most dear.
Be they lambics or lagers
Or bitters or bocks
Or pilsners or porters
Or mead sweet and clear.
Whether stouts or old weizens
Or ales brown or pale,
It's the same to our tankards,
Just bring us more beer.
For men of great strength
There is no match for stouts.
Grew Samson his hair
And gave Atlas his might.
Even great Hercules,
Through twelve trials triumphant,
Found time in his journeys
To toss back a pint.
After nights of long study
I did ascertain
That the thinking man's drinking
Fine lambics from Spain.
Aristotle himself
Took a bottle from the shelf.
To Socrates', Hippocrates'
And Plato's great brains!
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The lover's elixir
Is mead sweet as honey.
Just one little bottle
Brings passion that grows.
A goblet of silver
Filled thrice on the hour
Induces sweet slumber
So she can't say 'No.'
The bock is renowned
As a drink of good fortune.
It brings luck in games
Of skill and of chance.
With dice and a firkin
The intrepid gambler
Comes home with a barrel,
But no shirt or pants.
Be they lambics or lagers
Or bitters or bocks
Or pilsners or porters
Or mead sweet and clear.
Whether stouts or old weizens
Or ales brown or pale,
It's the same to our tankards
Just bring us more lambics or lagers
Or bitters or bocks
Or pilsners or porters
Or mead sweet and clear.
Whether stouts or old weizens
Or ales brown or pale,
It's the same to our tankards,
Just bring us more beer.
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