We started in the afternoon,
To celebrate a job well done.
You played guitar; I sang a tune,
And whiled away the summer sun.
We drank some whiskey from a glass:
A smooth fire filling our throats.
It loosed our mouths for words to pass,
Reciting countless poetic quotes.
We opened bottles of scotch and bourbon
And quaffed from them as well,
Talking of life pastoral and urban,
Drinking our way down to hell.
We sang the songs we knew by heart
And attempted the ones we did not.
When you released a shameless fart,
I laughed so hard, I ran to the pot.
We lalked and taughed and drang and sank
Until the nay turned into dight.
Of whiskey, botch, and scourbon we stank,
Thus we were all doaked with selight.
~ Conny Jasper