A Publican's Curse
Auld Nick below, in Hell bestow
All shiftless sailing boozers
As drinks all night, and then pick fights
And fill my pub with losers.
Of my inn I'm proud, I'll say it aloud
A nice clean place to drink in.
But the tars stream in and swill their gin
Until their breath is stinkin'.
Then this sailor free, girl on his knee
Goes reaching for her garters
He turns the miss to steal a kiss
Hey you! HANDS OFF -- MY DAUGHTER!
Drunk from the bar falls the jolly tar
On the floor his guts he's heavin'
For glasses smashed I'll take his cash
Which leaves us even-Stephen.
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