The Village Pub Poem by Phil Ward

I love to go to the village pub and meet old friends of mine,
To prop up the bar and share a jar of beer or a glass of wine,
Just like old John, yes please John a pint of best,
He doesn’t drink a lot, a pint and he’s gone,
That’s our John back to the nest and the missus,
Then there’s Pete, the nicest guy you’ll ever meet,
He’s in for the night, thanks Pete I’ll have a pint of the best,
Through the night it goes on and on, friends like John,
And Pete and Graham and Sue, who,
Live down the lane where Richard and Jane live,
And what I wouldn’t give to live in their house,
Thanks Graham a pint of best, that goes down so well,
Now what was I saying? Oh yesh I was torkin abou mi fwens,
What a gweat brunch of preople, a pub is a meeetin prace,
Where yo can sup a pint or four before fallin on the floor,
While makin for the door of the gents and not findin it,
So the fence will av to do,
Ah that’s better,
A pint of best Mike,
Ees the barman, im n Trish,
Now she’s a dish delish,
Well she was in er younger day,
And she couldn’t arf play, knock the spots off those dominoes,
Woe betide anyone oo crossed er eer,
She wore the trousers, lovely rear, kept tabs on the beer,
Made sure it were clear, beautiful pint, the best,
That’s why we keep cumin back,
Then Jack takes us ome, ee don’t drink,
Ee jus makes sure we do,
A little gold mine this place,
Right, off ome now,
Good night.