Monday, 6 September 2010

From Ye Cracke, Liverpool

I am the world’s last barman poet
I see Liverpool distending its liver on the never-ending stream of putrid tap grease I pull
Liverpudlians losing their lives in dark back rooms of the boozers always full
The pint of Cains
Or Wobbly Bob to smash out their brains
The Biddles cider
As the barrel leans their eyes stretch wider

I make things that cause puke and sloth
The Jaeger bomb
Their evenings quashed

I make drinks so neat and spazzy
The mini Guinness 
The candy killer with a kiss
The bottle of Buckfast in one
The B-51
The tramp shitting in front of the bus driver
The bastardized screwdriver 

Liverpool’s fervour is imploded with each shot that I pop
But everybody’s getting loaded
So why don’t you order another drink, you know you can’t stop
Bar is OPEN!!!

-David Bamford

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