SIX O'CLOCK SWILL

Ted wipes the shit from his hands, as he walks from the shed

With a scratch pulls some burrs from the back of his head

Spits his fag to the ground, with a flick of his tongue

Flops on a bale with an audible sigh

Brushes the sweat as it drips from his eyes

Another day's classing has gone by the by, its been done

Ted pulls his blue flame from his back, as he heads for a wash

With an oath gives a cursory nod to the boss

Cops a slap on the back, as he reaches the door

Now that the horrors of work have been done

Before he returns to the traumas of home

There's still a few hours left, that he calls his own

He'll drink to his friends and his comrades,

To his little lady at home

He'll drink to the memory of all the great bastards he's  known

He'll drink to his queen and his country

He'll drink and he'll drink again still

He'll drink till he falls, or the publican calls

Yes he'll drink to his fill, of the Six O'Clock Swill

Ted wipes the froth from his mouth as he heads to the bar

Spies a barmaid he's not seen before

If he elbows his way through, he's in with a chance

He'll tell her some stories he's told in the past

As he drains out the dregs of another pint glass

It may be his fifth, but it won't be his last for the day

He'll drink to his friends and his comrades,

He'll drink till the cows are well home

He'll drink to the memory of all the great bastards he's  known

He'll drink to his queen and his country

He'll drink and he'll drink again still

He'll drink till he falls, or the publican calls

Yes he'll drink to his fill, of the Six O'Clock Swill

At home there's a meal on the table,

And kids running wild in the hall

He's stuck with his lot, but he's willing to wager it all

Cause beleagurered by debt, bedevilled by fog,

Bewitched by the lure of the foam

Besotted by barmaids, benighted by grog,

But be buggered if he's going home

He'll drink to his friends and his comrades,

To his little lady at home

He'll drink to the memory of all the great bastards he's  known

He'll drink to his queen and his country

He'll drink and he'll drink again still

He'll drink till he falls, or the publican calls

Yes he'll drink to his fill, of the Six O'Clock Swill

Copyright SelfTort Publishing 2001