My Little Home-Made Bar
While the wintry wind is blowing, and it’s hailing and it’s snowing;
Folks all wonder how I manage to keep warm.
If they only knew the reason why I always keep in season,
At my door, an endless line would straightway form,
Comes the Summer, hot and torrid, I don’t swear it’s blinkin’ horrid,
It’s a time of joy and comfort, I declare,
For in my lowly cellar is the coziest rathskellar,
That’s my little home-made bar beneath the stair.
Thus I scorn official blighters who’d regenerate booze fighters,