The Pint Poem by Rather Dead Than Cool

The thick of the glass catches the eye.
The head of foam bubbles can make ones lips dry.
Its orange radiance beams a smile across this face.
As the day is long without its sinful taste.

Courage grows, though fortune shouts for unsafe.
To much more and you'll feel blood for its fate.
Some are more willing for its sake
Some are for willing in its hate.

Accept it will always have my place
For i cannot deny it has my fooling taste.