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<tips over his empty tankard> aye, me Tankards seems teh 'ave run empteh!
OY!!! tha' be the legendary Daylan, 'E's Famous!!!!!!!
-----and now, here's something from Glastonbury's rich past for the enjoyment of all.....Written by BrotherJonn------
In the fair and righteous realm of Albion,
There lived a friar who was well known, going by the name of Jonn.
He had been drinking most all of his life, and it was widely told,
That he could drink them faster, than any ‘tender could pour.
His legend finally reached Daylan, Friar once of the Crimson Band,
Well known for serving drinks to any that needed one.
With his hands on taps, and full of beer tap lore,
“No way can he drink them faster than I can quickly pour.”
So a note gets sent to Jonn, who was drying up Humberton.
Daylan want a drink off, for the champion of this world.
“Well bring him on” says Jonn, “I’ll drink until he drops.”
Says Daylan, “I’ll pour them for that sot until he ups and pops.”
So they rented out The Mug, and the word did quickly spread.
“Come one, come all that walk or crawl, the price-just one keg per head.
And from every town and hamlet, over land and sea they speed
The world's greatest drinkers with the Worlds greatest beer.
And the grand old house that Farris built is filled with the smoke and cries
Of fifty thousand screaming heads all drunk out of their minds.
And they play the national anthem and the crowd lets out a roar
As the spotlight hits Jonn and Daylan, ready for their drinkin' war
At a table piled up high with glasses, as high as a mountain peak
And hundreds of kegs, the best that they could seek.
And Daylan rubs his hands together, and Jonn, he just grins.
The crowd yells “GO!” And the great drink off begins.
Daylan flicks his magic fingers once and ZAP! That first one’s poured.
Jonn takes one swig with his mighty lips and WOOSH! that mug is hurled.
Then Daylan, he pours his Super Bomb that’d paralyze a moose.
And Jonn takes one super hit and SLURP! that bomb’s defused.
Then he pours three in just ten seconds and Jonn sucks 'em down in nine,
And everybody sits back and says, "This just might take some time."
See the blur of flyin’ fingers, see the red torches burnin’ bright
As the night turns into mornin’ and the mornin’ fades to night
And the autumn turns to summer and a whole damn year is gone
But the two still sit on that beer-filled stage, pourin' and rollin' on.
With tremblin’ hands Daylan pours his beers with fingers blue and stiff
Jonn coughs and stares with bloodshot gaze, and slurps through blistered lips.
And as he reaches out his hand for another mug of gold
The Kid he gasps, “damn it, Jonn, there's nothin' left to Pour!"
"Nothin’ left to pour?", bellows Jonn, "Are you some twisted Dink?”
“I didn't come here to fark around, man, I come here to DRINK!"
And Jonn reaches out, and grabs Daylan up, and puts him in a keg.
Pounds down the lid, tightly shut, and then shakes out his leg.
“I need a drink, right now is seems, and my bartender’s out of beer.”
Jonn looks around, and then goes out, to relieve himself, and find another drink.
In the fair and righteous realm of Albion,
There lived a friar who was well known, going by the name of Jonn.
He had been drinking most all of his life, and it was widely told,
That he could drink them faster, than any ‘tender could pour.
While off in Camelot, in an Inn once called The Mug.
There is a keg that rocks and knocks about, kind of like a bug.
And underneath it, like an epitaph, there lies a written scroll.
“Beware of being the bartender, when there is nothing left to pour.”
_________________
I once thought drinking was bad for me, so I quit thinking.
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