How long might it be oh Merv
That we sit
And wait with patience for the creamy head of your Paddy O’Furniture Stout
To rise from it’s obsidian depths
And we see you adorn it with the shamrock or the lyre ?
We have much about which to be concerned, Oh Merv
But the world in a Pig’s Arms pint canoe admits no strife or trouble
The froth, the bubble
Emergeth double.
And manifest it is to us – we hear the pipes a callin’
From Glen to Greg and maybe also Clyde
The summer’s gone and all the levers for Len
Are broken off –
So score for me a ride.
Chorus
Oh, take my back
And scratch me lightly o’er.
And run those nails –
Barely touching my backside.
The beach grows dark,
And fills the sand with shadows.
It’s time for me
To shut up shop
And come inside.
Tagged: humor, humour, Pig Psalm
