Poem Boozers Of The World Unite

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Boozers Of The World Unite Management reserve the right to refuse Admission at their discrimination (Sorry, discretion). You have nothing to lose But your bar-stools. Why risk deportation And exile from your local hostelry On the whimsy of some landlord from Hell? You walked in his pub expecting him to sell You beer and treat the customer as king. ‘Regulars’ are treated like royalty But woe betide if you start complaining That your pint needs topping up. Loyalty Lies with the gods of after-hours drinking. Our ‘friends’ raise their glasses in our absence Instead of walking out with us, thinking Of their rights and the Landlord’s affluence Acquired at their expense while the breweries Hitch up the price of watered-down lager To compensate for the lack of ordinary Decent folk and normal drunks who stagger Down the road to pubs where ‘Happy Hour’ lasts All night and where service is ‘first come first served’. ‘Real ale’ is fine but ‘real respect’ forecasts Don’t look good. What have we done to deserve Prejudice with every pint and meat pie Purchased? Call ‘Last Orders’ on such landlords. Other pubs and off-licenses nearby Can gain from what these fascists can afford By evicting us. If we go, their profit Goes, past where we once made a night of it. Arthur Chappell