I love the lassy
Her name a reminder
Contribution to my youth

She speaks
French so elegantly
Must be my bride

Whiskey to the top
Bear upon Scottish glasses
I find her in poetry

Made by Latin men
The Italian romantics
Gin way off on the horizon

I desire not
To waste away
But I desire a high

Drugs do me not
They are solemn
Without true cause

Give me the golden brew
Mash without hash
A pack with the Devil

Upon route six hundred and sixty-six
Where the grass is dry
Animals eat the rye

Hoping for Gaul
Hating Caesar
Hypocrite of old

Neither Roman
Irish
Or English

But French
Possibly Americano
Spanish in decent

Hot and tame
Without blame
And hate

Going into
Fine literature
Desperate for a land of growth

This must be the old novel
Written by a drunken American
Of old colonial Williamsburg

Indebted to Wickens' Street
Hating London
Eating my bread and butter