He toss’d off his cann:
There’s nought like good liquor the fancy to clear:
Then sang with great merit,
The flavour and spirit,
His godship had found in our Newcastle beer.
’Twas stingo like this made Alcides so bold,
It brac’d up his nerves, and enliven’d his pow’rs;
And his mystical club, that did wonders of old,
Was nothing, my lads, but such liquor as ours.
The horrible crew