I sit with beer, all destitute, to write this alcoholic poem,
Tomorrow's far away, but a catastrophic omen
With beer in front, the task at hand, I should not have a chance,
Yet goggles clear, my writing dear, with future shaking hands,
I'll give a cheer, I'll down my beer, haste towards the achin',
So then I'll wake up, fill my coffee cup, and make some ******* bacon!