Rye Whiskey, Rye Whiskey

A Rhymed Fable

Snug in the corner I saw the lad lie,
Fire in his belly, a cork in his eye;
And wordlessly sleeping, a-snooze in his bed,
His words, when awakened, go straight to your head.

Alluring to look at, golden is he,
There when you need him as sure as can be;
And anxious to aid you, he doesn't think twice,
The cost of his concert, your soul is the price.

Then, tell him to go now, bid him goodbye;
Leave him to slumber, let sleeping dogs lie!
Tell him his concord you are shooing away,
The lad with the nostrum may no longer stay.

Well! time he was leaving so, show him the door!
A flagon of whiskey a-smash on the floor.