I know a guy who over sipped
When drunk he’s too bizarre
For legal work he’s not equipped
He’d never pass the bar
He couldn’t be a surgeon
He’s much too much a cut-up
With probably no urge-in
To carve a patients gut-up
He thought perhaps he’d be a cop
But straight-shooting was not his game
Overly saturated with beer and hops
Bearing arms was not his aim
So in this bar he couldn’t pass
He’s on a daily bender
Happy working with shots in glass
As the pass-less bar bar-tender
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem