One sip
Just a bit. One sip.
To drown the memories of the cunt's whip.
Talk shit! for fighting fits with drunkards use of cunning wit
One sip, one sip.
Scotch that down. Last drip.
Echoes moan in stomachs aching
But throat's dry, beckon burning...
A glass is waiting, for the taking...
Pennywise chap. A round indeed.
For the same breed, fueled by greed
Mares awaken, to bucking steeds
Causing bleeds and planting seeds
No gardener resides on these cobble stone tracks
Steeds -in fact- peck orders when nights are black
And kin only react -- there's no pro for this creation
Because the horse whisperer died with his fathers first sip.
Now go drink! You Jolly good Chap!
You deserve it! You worked hard.
You deserve it.
Indeed.
mob