Accrington Web - funny rhymes...

A Boozer's Tale

I never drink beer on a Monday,
Cos Monday's the day fer mi health
An' the wife's got me countin' them units,
I've just got to take care o' miself
So I merely have wine wi' mi supper,
An' just the one litre OK?
Then a rather large rum in mi coffee
An' I calls that mi sensible day

I never drink wine on a Tuesday,
Cos Tuesday's mi weightwatchin' club
It's the day when I eat nowt but cabbage,
The day I don't go much fer grub
Now a diet demands plenty fluid,
Summat light an' completely fat-free
So I've chosen that strong German lager
An' I just have five pints wi' mi tea

I never drink lager on Wednesday,
Cos Wednesday's the day fer mi jog
It's tracksuit an' trainers at mid-day
Then I'm off up the road wi' the dog
First stop's at the Globe fer some Guinness,
Three swift ones'll get me to grips
Then I carry on round to The Shepherds
Fer three more an' a burger an' chips
I make sure that I'm suitably rested,
Then I sprint back to our garden wall
In a time of under twelve minutes,
An' it's four 'undred metres an' all

I never drink Guinness on Thursday,
Cos Thursday's mi day to relax
I likes to sit out in t' back garden
In mi brown zip-up cardie an slacks
After lunch I might stroll by the river,
Breeze in at the Fisherman's Drop
Where I lounge on the terrace all lordly,
Sippin' shandy, but beawt any pop
Then cos I've been good through the day like,
She'll allow me to waver a smidge
So mi evenin's spent watchin' the footy
Wi' a few packs o' Boddies from t' fridge

I never drink Boddies on Friday,
Cos Friday's mi night on the razz
An' we meet in The Firkin at seven,
Owd Nodger an' me an' Fat Baz
Oh The Firkin's a beer-drinker's heaven,
Wi' fifteen real ales from the jug
An' we start wi' the ones in the tap-room
An' we works our way round to the snug
By midnight we're all talkin' gubbins
An' we're off fer a curry up town
But there's summat not reyt about curry
Cos I never seem t' keep the stuff down
We 'ave a good laugh wi' the waiters,
An' Baz moons his bum fer a joke
Then I'm home fer a nightful o' passion,
Cos I'm known as a passionate bloke

I never do much on a Sat'day,
Cos Sat'day's mi time fer a think
Cos me an' the wife are not speakin' today,
I'm a drunken, fat pig an' I stink
So I sit near the lavvie pretendin'
That really I'm feelin' just great
But I'm goin' right off that Indian food
If it leaves me in this bloody state
It's later I make the decision,
On my forty-third trip to the bog
There's only one thing cures an upset like this
An' they call it the 'air o' the dog
I ring Nodge an' Baz on mi mobile
An' both of 'ems likewise in pain
So we're back in The Firkin at quarter-past-six
An' we do it all over again

I never say Firkin on Sunday,
Cos Sunday's mi day to repent
I'm ashamed of all o' that boozin' I've done
An' all o that money I've spent
I begs the wife fer forgiveness
An' I promise I'll alter mi ways
An' she gives me a kiss an' a cuddle,
Like she did in our newly-wed days
We watch Songs of Praise on the telly,
Then a nice pot o' tea an' some cakes
An' I swear now I've climbed up the ladders,
I'll never slide down any snakes
But it's borin' on telly on Sunday,
An' I can't say I'm ever impressed
So I 'ave a walk out round the village
An' stop off at the Collier's Rest
Now the beer's a bit crap in The Collier's
So I leave an' pop round to The Swan
Where I flatten a shed-load o' Tetley's
An' I'm bloody well back to square one

So I never drink beer on a Monday,
Cos Monday's the day fer mi health
An' the wife's got me countin' them units
I've just got to take care o' miself

Copyright; Steve Morris