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and the bid for drunkenness exalted,

with a bag of crisps, so lightly salted,

and then before we say adieu,

we make a move on a sweet cashew.

Then, down the street, in the next bar,

we raise ‘good health’ with another jar,

and wash it down, with some pork scratchings,

as fat in arteries forms new attachings.

Then ‘one for the road’, the road to hell,

when ‘Last orders’ heard from that demon bell.

As steps retraced, are now updated,

and centuries of gold nectar, still appreciated.

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