miguel
07-31-2007, 12:30 PM
THE LIVERPOOL BARMAID
Legend always has it and the truth will bear me out;
That men will go to any lengths to sup a pint of stout.
To slake their thirst on Pedigree, on Cains or Flowers beer:
No stormy night or doting wife will keep them from such cheer.
A sentiment I do applaud so when the clock says 'ready!'
I park my pen, no slowcoach when the big hand points to 'steady!'
It's time to..........GO! I check my dough; I have to be pedantic.
I have in mind a pint or two, but in the pub Atlantic.
I pass a score of empty pubs where taps are still and dry;
The beers the same but not the dame, and there the reasons lie.
I must confess I care not less for banjo or guitar;
But when I'm free I want to see the tart behind the bar.
In micro-skirt with waspish waist, a busty little looker;
A vixen sharp and witty and she dresses like a hooker.
Those gorgeous eyes, her super thighs; a pin-up of a beauty;
We long to have a pint pulled by this buxom little cutie.
Back or front or sideways on; Oh, what a little groover.
She'll stoop and turn....... and what a stern! A lovely little mover.
When I'm abroad I pray the Lord who sets my feet afar:
Return me to a girl like her; the tart behind the bar.
If Fate should see me shipwrecked and upon an island cast.
Hallucinating wildly as through thirst I breathe my last.
A vision through the swirling mist would beckon 'neath my star.
My soul set free to let me see, the tart behind the bar.
Quite a popular one. A real barmaid - and NOT a tart at all. Best wishes Janet at The atantic wherever you are
Legend always has it and the truth will bear me out;
That men will go to any lengths to sup a pint of stout.
To slake their thirst on Pedigree, on Cains or Flowers beer:
No stormy night or doting wife will keep them from such cheer.
A sentiment I do applaud so when the clock says 'ready!'
I park my pen, no slowcoach when the big hand points to 'steady!'
It's time to..........GO! I check my dough; I have to be pedantic.
I have in mind a pint or two, but in the pub Atlantic.
I pass a score of empty pubs where taps are still and dry;
The beers the same but not the dame, and there the reasons lie.
I must confess I care not less for banjo or guitar;
But when I'm free I want to see the tart behind the bar.
In micro-skirt with waspish waist, a busty little looker;
A vixen sharp and witty and she dresses like a hooker.
Those gorgeous eyes, her super thighs; a pin-up of a beauty;
We long to have a pint pulled by this buxom little cutie.
Back or front or sideways on; Oh, what a little groover.
She'll stoop and turn....... and what a stern! A lovely little mover.
When I'm abroad I pray the Lord who sets my feet afar:
Return me to a girl like her; the tart behind the bar.
If Fate should see me shipwrecked and upon an island cast.
Hallucinating wildly as through thirst I breathe my last.
A vision through the swirling mist would beckon 'neath my star.
My soul set free to let me see, the tart behind the bar.
Quite a popular one. A real barmaid - and NOT a tart at all. Best wishes Janet at The atantic wherever you are