Poetry(sort of)

Beer on Friday

At last another Friday's here, it's time to go and quaff some beer, and when we wake on Ilkley Moor, and wonder why we feel so poor, we'll hum and har and have a think, swear not to touch another drink. Then some how we will stagger home, and find our friends and have a moan, until once more Friday is here, then we'll go out and quaff more beer.