I don’t drink beer. I’d had a toke
Of something strong and stuck to Cokes
Which really don’t have half the poke
Of Pepsi. But a man who smokes
Before he drinks quite often chokes
When all he means to do is sloke
His thirst. I guthried o’er my Loakes
And sluthered on my opera cloak.
The landlord said, “A fucking joke
Is what you are - but I like jokes
So I’m inclined to think you’re ok-
ay. I’m the kind of bloke who likes
Novelties like trikes and ukes,”
(By this time we were in the bike-
shed of the pub). “Look at the spokes
On that old Rudge - they make me puke!”
With that the friendly landlord took
Me where hay stood up in stooks.
“Townies never stop to look,
Unless it’s in their picture books.
They love their fucking country walks,
They think it’s all a fucking lark!
What do they know of beefs and porks?
They think they’re in a country park!”
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