Once I was a bar man
who sold porridge
Money was the goal as skill drove in
The drink I sold I had no idea of making
Though my efforts as a tender gave taste to the drinkers

One for the road on the hot sip
Only the stomach testified to the burning
But who sells porridge in a whine glass
A places a straw right there
Yes I did

Test me once to serve you
Trust your buds to hold it up
See you lips running to the glass as your hands shake
Sweet in the mouth with a cling of bitterness
Say no more give me more