I will arise and go now, and go down to the pub,
And a celebration have there, of beer and spirits made,
Nine schooners will I drink there, then give my eyes a rub,
And make a lunge at the nearest winsome maid.
And I will drink more beer there, for beer comes pouring slow,
Pouring from the Hahn's Lager tap, into the frosty glass;
There midnight's rather woozy in the bar-lights' lurid glow,
And dawn full of bouncers kicking arse.
I will arise and go now, for always night and day,
I hear good lager gurgling with loud sounds down my gullet,
As I stagger somewhat stonkered out on the pavements grey,
A pie-eyed, blotto, pickled mullet.