At The Golden Pig
Where once with lads I scoffed my beer
The landlord's lass I've wed.
Now I am lord and master here;--
Thank God! the old man's dead.
I stand behind a blooming bar
With belly like a tub,
And pals say, seeing my cigar:
'Bill's wed a pub.'
I wonder now if I did well,
My freedom for to lose;
Knowing my wife is fly as hell
I mind my 'Ps' and 'Qs'.
Oh what a fuss she made because
I tweaked the barmaid's bub:
Alas! a sorry day it was
I wed a pub.
Fat landlord of the Golden Pig,
They call me 'mister' now;
And many a mug of beer I swig,
Yet don't get gay, somehow.
So farmer fellows, lean and clean
Who sweat to earn your grub,
Although you haven't got a bean:
Don't wed a pub.
poem by Robert William Service
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Enemy Conscript
What are we fighting for,
We fellows who go to war?
fighting for Freedom's sake!
(You give me the belly-ache.)
Freedom to starve or slave!
Freedom! aye, in the grave.
Fighting for "hearth and home,"
Who haven't an inch of loam?
Hearth? Why even a byre
Can only be ours for hire.
Dying for future peace?
Killing that killing cease?
To hell with such tripe, I say.
"Sufficient unto the day."
It isn't much fun being dead.
Better to le in bed,
Cuddle up to the wife,
Making, not taking life.
To the corpse that stinks in the clay,
Does it matter who wins the day?
What odds if tyrants reign?
They can't put irons on the brain.
One always can eat one's grub,
Smoke and drink in a pub.
There's happiness in a glass,
A pipe and the kiss of a lass.
It's the best we get anyhow,
In the life we are living now.
Who's wanting a hero's fate?
To the dead cheers come too late.
Flesh is softer than steel;
Wounds are weary to heal.
In the maniac hell of the fray
Who is there dares to say?
"Hate will be vanquished by Love;
God's in His Heaven above."
When those who govern us lead
The lads they command to bleed;
When rulers march at the head,
And statesmen fall with the dead;
When Kings leap into the fray,
Fight in the old-time way,
Perish beside their men,
Maybe, O maybe then
War will be part of the past,
Peace will triumph at last.
Meantime such lads as I,
Who wouldn't have harmed a fly,
Have got to get out and kill
Lads whom we bear no ill;
As simple as we, no doubt,
Who seek what it's all about;
Who die in defence of - what?
Homes that they haven't got;
Who perish when all they ask
is to finish the daily task;
Make bread for the little ones,
Not feed the greed of the guns,
When fields of battle are red,
And diplomats die in bed.
poem by Robert William Service
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Let's Lynch The Landlord
The landlord's here to visit
They're blasting disco down below
Sez, "I'm doubling the rent
Cuz the buildings condemned
You're gonna help me buy City Hall"
But we can, you know we can
We can, you know we can
Let's lynch the landlord man
I tell them turn on the water
I tell them turn on the heat
Tells me "All you ever do is complain"
Then they search the place when I'm not here
But we can, you know we can
Let's lynch the landlord
Let's lynch the landlord
Let's lynch the landlord man
There's rats chewin' up the kitchen
Roaches up to my knees
Turn the oven on, it smells like Dachau
Til' the rain pours through the ceiling
But we can, you know we can
Let's lynch the landlord man
song performed by by Faith No More
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Chug-a-lug
Here a mug, there a mug, everybody chug-a-lug
Here a mug, there a mug, everybody chug-a-lug
Gary likes a girls tight black pants
Larry knows he doesnt stand a chance
Carl says hurry up and order it quick
Dave gets out to chase that chick
Dennis wonders whats under the hood
A big chrome tach and it sounds real good
I go down to the root beer stand
And drink up all that I can
Give me some root beer (chug-a-lug chug-a-lug chug-a-lug)
Give me some root beer (chug-a-lug chug-a-lug chug-a-lug)
Give me some root beer (chug-a-lug chug-a-lug chug-a-lug)
Cold beer, root beer
Here a mug, there a mug, everybody chug-a-lug
Brians still glued to the radio
Louies lookin out the rear window
Guys got around to orderin fries
But root beers my best buy
Give me some root beer (chug-a-lug chug-a-lug chug-a-lug)
Give me some root beer (chug-a-lug chug-a-lug chug-a-lug)
Give me some root beer (chug-a-lug chug-a-lug chug-a-lug)
Cold beer, root beer
Here a mug, there a mug, everybody chug-a-lug
Give me some root beer (chug-a-lug chug-a-lug chug-a-lug)
Give me some root beer (chug-a-lug chug-a-lug chug-a-lug)
Give me some root beer (chug-a-lug chug-a-lug chug-a-lug)
Cold beer, root beer
Here a mug, there a mug, everybody chug-a-lug
Root beer, need another mug now
Root beer, chug-a-lug-a-lug now
Root beer, need another mug now
Root beer, chug-a-lug-a-lug now
Root beer, need another mug now
Root beer, chug-a-lug-a-lug now
song performed by by Beach Boys
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The long nosed ridged backed swamp whippet
We had to leave new Zealand shores, in rain an snow an fog
just me and my adversary by that I mean my dog!
a pig dog was Dorothy, a holder of the best
the first to feel the tusk, she would never let it rest
teeth barded she would attack, from front or from the rear
she grabbed at their extremities to her she knew no fear
we landed on the Aussie shores, an to the great out back
we slept amongst the stars at night where the abbo's track
we came upon a wayside pub, we were tired and dry
our swag a burden on our backs at night beneath the sky
the landlord said to me, is that a fighting dog?
I said with a grimace, with a chance she would!
I have a dog out beyond, will you take a bet on him!
landlord for free beer I'll even let him sing!
out the back the landlords dog was long and lean and thin
I'd never seen the likes of him or anything close to him!
what kind of dog is that I said, for sure I'd never seen
It’s a 'long nosed ridged backed swamp whippet'
and for a fight he's very keen!
Dorothy, looked at him then looked again at me
I said go on sweetheart let his soul go free!
the whippet took her leg, but she just gave a groan
in she rushed and grabbed his tail, and took it to the bone
it was in a flash the whippet caught Dorothy by the head
it was over in a flash, for poor Dorothy was dead!
money changed hands and I was all alone
the whippet had eaten Dorothy all was left was bone!
the landlord told me of his dog, of tales I'd never heard,
the beers on me tonight, not another word
What was the breed of dog that took my Dorothy
a Long nosed ridged backed swamp whippet, it very plain to see
the locals call them crocodiles but that’s, between you, and me!
poem by Bob Gibson
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The Path To Rightousness
SOME FRIENDS WERE SEATED AT A BEER PARLOUR DRINKING BEER! ALL OF A SUDDEN A MAN WALKED IN AND SAID, MERRY MEN! A LIQUOR CONTEST IS ABOARD!
HOORAY! SHOUTED THE JOLLY FELLOWS! JUST THEN A PREACHER WALKED IN WITH HIS HOLY SCRIPTURES AND SHOUTED OUT FOR ALL TO HEAR, WIDE IS THE PATH THE LEADS TO DESTRUCTION! REPENT OF THY ALCHOHOLIC WAYS AND FOLLOW THE PATHS OF RIGHTOUSNESS!
JUST THEN A WELL KNOWN WHORE WALKED INTO THE PARLOUR AND ON SIGHTING THE PREACHER, SHE QUICKLY SEIZED HIM BY HIS BELT!
THE SURPRISED FELLOWS ALL CAME TOGETHER AND ENQUIRED OF HER, SAYING, WHAT BE THY PROBLEM THAT YOU TROUBLE THIS RIGHTOUS MAN? AND SHE REPLIED, HE HAS REFUSED TO PAY ME FOR MY SERVICES, THRICE I HAVE ALLOWED HIM MY PLEASURES ON CREDIT, BUT ALAS! TODAY HE MUST PAY!
THE STUNNED FELLOWS ALL BECAME SILENT AND WENT BACK TO THEIR BEER DRINKING!
poem by Overlord Don Manuel Ihcakeyno
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Strong Beer
“What do you think
The bravest drink
Under the sky?”
“Strong beer,” said I.
“There’s a place for everything,
Everything, anything,
There’s a place for everything
Where it ought to be:
For a chicken, the hen’s wing;
For poison, the bee’s sting;
For almond-blossom, Spring;
A beerhouse for me.”
“There’s a prize for every one
Every one, any one,
There’s a prize for every one,
Whoever he may be:
Crags for the mountaineer,
Flags for the Fusilier,
For English poets, beer!
Strong beer for me!”
“Tell us, now, how and when
We may find the bravest men?”
“A sure test, an easy test:
Those that drink beer are the best,
Brown beer strongly brewed,
English drink and English food.”
Oh, never choose as Gideon chose
By the cold well, but rather those
Who look on beer when it is brown,
Smack their lips and gulp it down.
Leave the lads who tamely drink
With Gideon by the water brink,
But search the benches of the Plough,
The Tun, the Sun, the Spotted Cow,
For jolly rascal lads who pray,
Pewter in hand, at close of day,
“Teach me to live that I may fear
The grave as little as my beer.”
poem by Robert Graves
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Bar Talk
You remember that dame
who didn't want to talk to
you and then later she did
by which time you had met
some other chick who really
turned you on? Joey said well
she's like that with most guys
she thinks it gives her a kind
of power you know the type
was probably kept under her
old man's thumb or maybe her
brothers kept her in her place
and she wants to break out or
in whatever the case may be
so I shouldn't take it to heart
Bud don't let it get to you
anyway if you see her again
give her the cold shoulder or
spin her some yarn that you
only go out with good looking
dames and Bud looked over at
Joey who was smoking a cigar
and holding a glass of beer and
said I know dames I was born
from one and I had four sisters
all of whom were nice chicks
and really made my youth one
hell of a heaven if that ain't a
contradiction so I don't need
no lessons on dames see I know
them and so Joey shrugged his
shoulders and sipped his beer
and drew heavy on his cigar
and said so be it next thing
you'll be telling me is you've
slept with your darn ma.
poem by Terry Collett
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The Ballad Of The Landlord
Landlord, landlord,
My roof has sprung a leak.
Don't you 'member I told you about it
Way last week?
Landlord, landlord,
These steps is broken down.
When you come up yourself
It's a wonder you don't fall down.
Ten Bucks you say I owe you?
Ten Bucks you say is due?
Well, that's Ten Bucks more'n I'l pay you
Till you fix this house up new.
What? You gonna get eviction orders?
You gonna cut off my heat?
You gonna take my furniture and
Throw it in the street?
Um-huh! You talking high and mighty.
Talk on-till you get through.
You ain't gonna be able to say a word
If I land my fist on you.
Police! Police!
Come and get this man!
He's trying to ruin the government
And overturn the land!
Copper's whistle!
Patrol bell!
Arrest.
Precinct Station.
Iron cell.
Headlines in press:
Man Threatens landlord
Tenant Held Bail
Judge GIives Negro 90 Days In County Jail!
poem by Langston Hughes
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Cold Beer, Women and Music
I like cold beer on a hot day
I like hot women on a cold day
I like music on a hot or cold day
I like to have cold beer in my pad
I like to have my women scantily clad
I like to have my music not bad
I like my cold beer enshrouded
I like my women endowed
I like my music loud
I like my cold beer in my right hand
I like my women tanned
I like my music close at hand
I like cold beer to unwind
I like women to dine
I like music to remind
I like cold beer with women
I like women with cold beer
I like cold beer and women with music
poem by Bill Kamen
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Corn Grinders
O little mouse, why dost thou cry
While merry stars laugh in the sky?
Alas! alas! my lord is dead!
Ah, who will ease my bitter pain?
He went to seek a millet-grain
In the rich farmer's granary shed;
They caught him in a baited snare,
And slew my lover unaware:
Alas! alas! my lord is dead.
O little deer, why dost thou moan,
Hid in thy forest-bower alone?
Alas! alas! my lord is dead!
Ah! who will quiet my lament?
At fall of eventide he went
To drink beside the river-head;
A waiting hunter threw his dart,
And struck my lover through the heart.
Alas! alas! my lord is dead.
O little bride, why dost thou weep
With all the happy world asleep?
Alas! alas! my lord is dead!
Ah, who will stay these hungry tears,
Or still the want of famished years,
And crown with love my marriage-bed?
My soul burns with the quenchless fire
That lit my lover's funeral pyre:
Alas! alas! my lord is dead.
poem by Sarojini Naidu
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Whether it was the tenant who seduced the landlord's wife, or the landlord who seduced the tenant's wife, it is the tenant who would leave the house.
The can can empty.
One to lose one’s wife
Is a can losing its beer.
One to dropp one’s husband
Is the beer losing its can.
Man can’t withstand the latter.
14.12.2010
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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It's No Fun
It's no fun when you're lacking in stature
When your body's deficient in height;
When your nickname is tiny, or shorty
Why, it keeps you awake half the night.
It's no fun when you're out with your buddies
And you go to the bar for a beer;
When the landlord shouts, 'Right then, who's next please? '
And you wonder, am I really here?
It's no fun when a light-bulb needs changing
And you try to effect a repair;
And you stretch, but experience tells you
That you'll STILL have to stand on a chair.
It's no fun when you look at your neighbours
And your eyes are as green as can be,
And you reckon it's all in the hormones
Saying, 'That's why they're taller than me! '
Oh give me an inch on my shoulders
Or a foot or two under my feet,
And I'd stand up and proudly be counted,
Being seen to have risen from my seat.
(Written Dec 1996)
poem by John Carter Brown
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Country Pubs
We know those little country pubs,
By cross-road and by creek,
Where faithfully the landlord scrubs
His counter once a week,
And stands before his shining bar
To cater for man's thirst
With all the best; but where the meals are
He caters with the worst.
'Wottle you 'ave?' There's beer or brandy,
Rum or half-and-half or shandy.
Wine or whisky. Bottles wink
'Wottle you 'ave, boys? Name your drink' ...
But in the grimy dining room
A slattern lass of grease and gloom
Intones in accents charged with grief:
'Wottle you 'ave? There's corn-beef.'
In the bar the talk grows gay,
The landlord beams, for trade agog,
And yokels wile dull hours away
Idly yarning o'er their grog ...
But in that cave of gastric woes
Grimly the hungry traveller eats,
To end by turning up his nose
And hoping to fill up on sweets.
'Wottle you 'ave?' - The cups are cloudy.
Linen soiled. The waitress dowdy,
Comes like an avenging fate
Snatching at the greasy plate
Soggy cabbage; soapy 'spuds'
Droning flies and smell of suds.
Now she whines, like some lost soul:
'Wottle you 'ave? There's jam-roll.'
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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Opera or Ballet
Oh joyous delight - finally reached the end of
my lovely Agreement, it should be an opera
sung to the music of Carmina Burana - if a
ballet, danced to the courtiers’ march in
Romeo and Juliet, the climax amazing
The tenant should fund the bill for drafting and
signing the serious contract, the self-satisfied
landlord can inspect and evict as he likes, the
effacing tenant had better beware - I see two
men in Victorian clothing - fencing
About the nefarious terms, no favours shall
nullify the terms by which the landlord can
pocket the deposit, any wrong step made
by the tenant shall render beneficial
occupation impossible - Should the
tenant improve the premises, no advantage
shall accrue to him, should the place burn
down - it will be seen as a scheme and he
shall be held responsible, the end to be
perfect - The angry tenant
shall kill the overbearing landlord with one
blow, then enjoy exercising his right to
beneficial occupation indefinitely - at
least, in the opera or ballet
poem by Margaret Alice Second
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Beer Drinkers & Hell Raisers
If you see me walkin down the line
With my favrite honky tonk in mind,
Well, Ill be here around suppertime
With my can of dinner and a bunch of fine.
Beer drinkers and hell raisers, yeah.
Uh-huh-huh, baby, dont you wanna come with me?
The crowd gets loud when the band gets right,
Steel guitar cryin through the night.
Yeah, tryn to cover up the corner fight
But evrythings cool cause theys just tight.
Beer drinkers and hell raisers, yeah.
Huh, baby, dont you wanna come with me?
Ah, play it boy.
The joint was jumpin like a cat on hot tin.
Lord, I thought the floor was gonna give in.
Soundin a lot like a house congressional
cause were experimental and professional.
Beer drinkers, hell raisers, yeah.
Well, baby, dont you wanna come with me?
- billy gibbons, dusty hill & frank beard
song performed by by ZZ Top
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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No Beer, No Work
The shades of night was fallin’ slow
As through New York a guy did go
And nail on ev’ry barroom door
A card that this here motter bore:
'No beer, no work.'
His brow was sad, his mouth was dry;
It was the first day of July,
And where, all parched and scorched it hung,
These words was stenciled on his tongue:
'No beer, no work.'
'Oh, stay,' the maiden said, 'and sup
This malted milk from this here cup.'
A shudder passed through that there guy,
But with a moan he made reply:
'No beer, no work.'
At break of day, as through the town
The milkman put milk bottles down,
Onto one stoop a sort of snore
Was heard, and then was heard no more—
'No beer, no work.'
The poor old guy plumb dead was found
And planted in the buryin’ ground,
Still graspin’ in his hand of ice
Them placards with this sad device:
'No beer, no work.'
poem by Ellis Parker Butler
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Mulligan's Shanty
Things is just the same as ever
On the outer Never-Never,
And you look to find the stock of liquor scanty,
But we found things worse than ordin'ry,
And in fact a bit extraordin'ry
When myself and Bill the Pinker struck the shanty.
'Shanty,' says you. 'What shanty?'
Why, Mulligan's shanty.
I says 'Whisky'; Bill says 'Brandy';
But there wasn't either handy,
For the boss was out of liquor in that line.
'Well, I'll try a rum,' says Billy.
'Got no rum,' he answers, chilly,
'But I'll recommend a decent drop o' tine.'
'Tine?' says Bill; 'what tine?'
'Why, turpentine!'
'Blow me blue!' says Bill the Pinker,
'Can't yer give us a deep-sinker?
Ain't you got a cask o' beer behind the screen?'
Bill was getting pretty cranky,
But there wasn't any swanky.
Says the landlord, 'Why not have a drop o' sene?'
'Sene?' says Bill; 'what sene?'
'Why, kerosene!'
Well, we wouldn't spend a tanner,
But the boss's pleasant manner
All our cursing couldn't easily demolish.
Says he, 'Strike me perpendic'lar
But you beggars are partic'lar,
Why, the squatter in the parlor's drinking polish!'
'Polish?' says Bill, 'what polish?'
'Why, furniture-polish!'
poem by William Thomas Goodge
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Florrie
Because I was a wonton wild
And welcomed many a lover,
Who is the father of my child
I wish I could discover.
For though I know it is not right
In tender arms to tarry,
A barmaid has to be polite
To Tom and Dick and Harry.
My truest love was Poacher Jim:
I wish my babe was his'n.
Yet I can't father it on him
Because he was in prison.
As uniforms I like, I had
A soldier and a sailor;
Then there was Pete the painter lad,
And Timothy the tailor.
Though virtue hurt you vice ain't nice;
They say to err is human;
Alas! one pays a bitter price,
It's hell to be a woman.
Oh dear! Why was I born a lass
Who hated to say: No, sir.
I'd better in my sorry pass
Blame Mister Simms, the grocer.
poem by Robert William Service
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Wide Spaces
When my last long-beer has vanished and the truth is left unsaid;
When each sordid care is banished from my chair and from my bed,
And my common people sadly murmur: " 'Arry Lawson dead,"
When the man I was denounces all the things that I was not,
When the true souls stand like granite, while the souls of liars not –
When the quids I gave are counted, and the trays I cadged forgot;
Shall my spirit see the country that it wrote for once again?
Shall it see the old selections, and the common street and lane?
Shall it pass across the Black Soil and across the Red Soil Plain?
Shall it see the gaunt Bushwoman "slave until she's fit to drop",
For the distant trip to Sydney, all depending on the crop?
Or the twinkling legs of kiddies, running to the lollie-shop?
Shall my spirit see the failures battling west and fighting here?
Shall it see the darkened shanty, or the bar-room dull and drear?
Shall it whisper to the landlord to give Bummer Smith a beer?
Will they let me out of Heaven, or Valhalla, on my own –
Or the Social Halls of Hades (where I shall not be alone) –
Just to bring a breath of comfort to the hells that I have known?
poem by Henry Lawson
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