The Leaky Kegs
A tale of family ties, set inside a Yorkshire pub.
The pub landlord thumbed through his dictionary
To improve his work elocution.
His eyes began gleaming at alcohol’s meaning
When he read that it is a solution
When in walked a fella, an old Yorkshire lad
With his cap all down damp from the rain,
But guided by radar, he soon found the bar
And studied the beers name by name.
“What’s it to be?” asked the landlord at last.
“We’ve many a fine ale to taste.
Wheatley’s Best Bitter, or Cantley Brain Splitter,
Or lager if you’ve money to waste.
We’ve got Carpenter’s Thumb, or Bawtry Blackout
And special is Geoffrey‘s Desire.”
The old bloke expressed, “Three Pints of Best,”
And went off to sit by the fire.
The Landlord poured out the three pints with skill
And served them within easy reach
But fairly near shook, as the old chap took
A lingering sip out of each.
“Forgive my intrusion” the landlord he coughed
“I don’t want to ruin your sesh,
But drinkers like I’m, like one pint at a time;
It’s better when drunken up fresh.”