He was on a road out of London, pulled up at a pub,

He heard them say the words that he remembers today.

The drinking man he suffers glug, glug, glug. He loves

The taste of whiskey, the craic,  all that convivial shite,

But he remembers, truly remembers - he's a creature of

The night. Looking for a moment of lost content, 

A solution, he rumbles all the lying, theft and prostitution.

He likes a drink or twenty, the more he drinks the more

Heavenly, the music, the music of the blues, Convenient

Blues still rhymes with booze. He's seen hs way to AA,

Up on the Finchley Road, but tea aint got the sparkle of

Putting on a load. He dances in his head, my friend,

Jives with the moon, after all his music, the poetry had begun.