Lifting spirits will lift your spirits! Let’s
grab a goblet and have a guzzle.

I’ll toast to you my friend, and when
you’re done, pour you a double.

For those we’ve lost, we’ll spill a little
and stare down at the puddle.

Reflect on the pangs of life a moment,
commiserate about the struggle.

Then splash the liquid all about, and shout
“Barman, hustle!

If our cups didn’t runneth over before,
they better now or there’ll be trouble;

if our tankards aren’t foaming soon
our fists'll be balled and white of knuckle!”

We’ll drink chicha in Peru, and sake in Japan,
mezcal in Mexico, and palm wine in the jungle.

The bar’s our gym, it’s where we go
to train ye oulde esophageal muscle

but we’ll chug or glug or quaff anywhere,
be it farm or cave or hovel.

We live for libations, go goo-goo for grog,
and drain enough to dim the mind of any mere muggle.

The hoppy makes us sloppy; now
most of my drink lands on my stubble;

eyes are bloodshot, mouth is dry,
body wrecked like so much rubble.

You’re not faring much better…
we make quite the lively couple.

But we'll be back here tomorrow sister,
I’ll have no rebuttal!
You may be gone, but you’re alive
in me, a piece of my puzzle.

Let this ***** quench our pain
‘til off this mortal coil we shuffle.