The Fire Inside pours out pub songs by the pint and fun by the pitcher!
"Get Off Your Couch, O'Malley"
Sean O’Malley sat upon his couch
One evening in July
Watching the telly and scratchin’ his belly
In boredom he did fry
His tongue was dry as a canvas tent
The console he switched off.
A feisty thirst did plague his mouth
His gaze went toward the trough.
Get off yer couch O’Malley
The brew is calling you
Nine pints will be too many
No doubt three will be too few.
Sean walked into the kitchen
And opened up the fridge
The scene displayed before him
Caused the poor young lad to cringe.
No lager, red, nor ale in sight
Not even a stoic stout
With sad provisions inside his kitchen
His chance for a pint were out.
The first stop on his pub-crawl
Was the Jaunty Cavalier.
An open door and lassies galore
Bewitched him to come near.
Try as he might to enter the pub
Poor Sean got turned away
“It's Ladies Night!, No men in sight,
The laddies cannot stay!”
Sean popped into the Rusty Spike
A pub just three doors down.
To quench his thirst he ordered first
A reliable British brown
He chased that with two others
A drought to overcome,
Negra Modelo and New Belgian Ale-O
Bolder with each one.
Sean shouted to the waitress
“Beer me on the double!”
To which she replied, without a kind eye
“Get out, you're causing me trouble!”
With tipsy tail between his legs
He sauntered out the door
Six blocks down he lost his frown
For he spied a liquor store.
Sean selected a sixpack,
An assortment if you will,
An amber, a bitter, a light and two bocks
A hefeweisen to swill
He carried his foamy package
Back to the Jaunty bar
He barely could manage his liquid advantage
And opened the Stella Artois
Two beers outside Ladies Night
He drank them without a taste
Then hollered at the lassies
As they left the pub in great haste
“I’ve four more here!” he shouted
Trying for company,
Two for our dullard
And two for an invitee.
He slowly started to tip 'em back,
A solo drinker he,
On one of four he hit the floor
Missing nine by three.
His flat mate stumbled upon him
Napping on 6th Avenue
“I’m taking you home, you drunken moron,
And no more brew for you!”
Sit on yer couch O'Malley
We fear what ye will do
Of beers you've had too many
And of meals you've had too few.