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Francie Lynch Apr 2018
So you like to drink in the bars,
Or swill moonshine from old pickle jars;
You could be far worse off than you are,
You know you coulda been a dork.

A dork's a mammalian who digs in his nose,
His *** passes gas as he goes;
He has greasy hair and picks at his wart,
He plays with his  *****, burbs and snorts.
So if you like to spit, pick and hork,
You're on your way to be a dork.

Or would you rather drink in the bars,
And swill moonshine from old pickle jars;
You could be far worse off than you are,
You know you coulda been a nerd.

Nerds are mammalians in Bermuda shorts,
Sandals with knee-high socks;
He's awkward and clumsy and out of step,
If we turn East, the nerd turns West.
If you don't want treatment like a ****,
Then stop acting like a nerd.

Or would you rather drink in the bars,
Swilling moonshine from old pickle jars;
You could be far worse off than you are,
You don't wanna be a goof.

A goof's a mammalian kiddie diddler,
A rat, a punk, a toothless skinner;
He's in jail to keep us safe,
But in protective custody for his own sake.
So if you don't heed the law and you're a ****,
You'll do well when you're a goof.

Some solid guys aren't behind bars,
We play ukes, guitars and cards;
We're on stools in our local bars,
Seeing ourselves as Avatars,
While getting pickled in our jars.
Think of Bing Crosby's "Swinging On a Star." My apologies to the Crosby family.
Francie Lynch Aug 2014
Have another round, boys,
The time's on me.
Use the good time
While you can, boys,
In morning you will see.

Don't ponder vain dreams lads,
They thicken in your blood:
Leave it on the rocks, sir,
For there it will inspire,
For certain something's sensed.


          Keep me alive
          Don't let me die
          Tonight.
          If I stayed at home
          I wouldn't be
          Too tight tonight.
          Sensing delight in drinks
          Tonight's by me.

Let your insights falter,
Slip another disc.
Stay seated where you are boys,
Don't bother to resist.
Thrill your lungs
With tapered incense,
The myrrh of barroom bliss.

          While rambling through
          The ale and lager
          We remain serene,
          And all too soon
          I lie alone
          In sober company.

— The End —