You've got a liver like a shark
And the zanies all remark, "It's Beam time"
Mouth is a-quiver, you stop and behold heavy drinks
The clan is growing tipsy, some'll go blind
They'll reel all night till you fear they're rude and stink

Well now you'd fetch a bite, but you don't see food getting tasted
Rummies spin out and complain, you jeer the lads so plowed
Some just mixin' and others wasted
Robust, the storm, a growing black cloud
Wayward clowns loud, wayward clowns proud, luncheon crowd

You're decked out in your cords, you won't draw awards
But with prickly itchin', the buzzin' taunts to make you try a drink
At an old nicked bar a tallish can gets poured
Then you ditch your cumbersome plight to sway and slink

A hairy rustic finds that his cousin's date's obscene
He spots the playtime mob, he's viewing brawl-fights
He's afraid his raunchy paunch hides many kinks
Craving a butt, guy stays tight
With the gulpin'
With the gulpin' of drinks

And some rowdies conjoin, their drooling astounds the performers
Drunkards stressed from the breast-hounds' nagging, as the last chords jolt
They're so in demand, bouts stemming strumpets' straying hands
Dim-brained sluts wake all noddin' dolts
And the gulpin'
Yeah, the gulpin' a-slakes Leough (Keough)

- - - - -

Then a last request pipes up in a gripin' tone
And peasants laugh just as the fine belles shrink
"Goodnight! Clowns, it's time! Do go home!"
And you break a glass with one bored wink
Regard the gulpin'
Regard the gulpin' of drinks