Realising only lately Arthur's nightly dread
Joe decides to fortify his fluid
Lurking in new derelicts, a mile or two ahead
The drunken wretch is dressing like a druid
Tramps on poles veer always North, defying every road
Bottling other purposes in aspic
Partly eruditely, tailors evermore reload
Unwanted reels of rubbery elaspic
The strengthened gin my uncle drank took worries off his mind
Joe decides to multiply his income
He waters down the miner's beer with all that he can find
And every drink's the same, and still they drink 'em.
Arthur's nightly torment happened often (never yet
Remarked on by the institute of women)
Softly trembling ever, very eager now to bet
His lust against the vicar's constant hymnin'.
Running over Bedlam, without eyes severely tarred
A feather for the hermit in the east wood!
Whose cabbalistic rites have left his wife's best efforts charred
Hypocrisy is rife amongst the priesthood.
Art's consumption greatly rose, perpetually canned!
Gradually from everybody's presence he was banned.
He drank alone, and drank so much, it killed him in a year
He'd have ended so much better if he'd only stuck to beer