The Local


A wood carving of something,

No one knows what,

And the half pint of bitter,

That Jerry forgot,

Before he dropped of,

His face pressed to the keys,

Of the piano;

Strings hopping with fleas,

Caught from the cat,

Who licks up the drips,

That spill from the bar,

And the drunken man’s lips,

A twenty pound note,

Caught up in a draught,

Blew through the door

As the bartender laughed,

At Mickey McKean

Who gritted his teeth,

And spat stinking ale,

At fat Johnny Keith,

Who swayed on his stool,

And gave a loud cry,

As West Country ale,

Was sprayed in his eye.

This woke poor Jerry,

Out of his snooze,

He straitened his back,

And lapped up his booze,

And starting to tinkle,

A merry old song,

And averted a fight,

As they all sang along.

 By

Gwen

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About Gwen and Elinor

Two bloging buddies who love tea and biscuits.
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