In Lisbon I drank some Madeira

Because Portugal's Port is much dearer

But my fellow Brits

Got off of their tits

On lager in Albufeira


The Russians drink gallons of Smirnoff

To forget all the losses they learn of

The Germans down Becks

With the opposite sex

Until they find that it's a turn-off


Kronenbourg came over from France

Drinking it causes a trance

And a nice San Miguel

Raises Italian hell

Drink to much and you'll take off your pants


I'm English and drink Newcastle Brown

Whenever I'm out on the town

Sipping Bristol Cream sherry

Saw a push by John Terry

And the English were out and were down


Carlsberg's a drink for the Danes

To drink it means terrible pain

When you fall off your chairs

Or tumble down stairs

'cos a few make you terribly caned.


In Greece they drink Ouzo

That's not my kind of booze, no

There's Grolsch, which is Dutch

But don't drink too much

Or your memory you might lose, oh


At the finals there's no sign of Stella

Cause' Belgium didn't do too well, er.

No whisky to sip

cause the Scots cannot kick

A football so read a novella


(The novella is read

By a Scotsman in bed

Who ignores all the fun

until England are overrun

'about bloody time', he said)


ABsolut Vodka's from Sweden

Where meatballs is what they like to feed on

If you believe that Ikea

Has any idea

How to make a chair you can sit on


There's a drink that they like in Espana

That they'll force you to wine and they'll dine ya

It's called a rioja

It's dry as a fokker

And if you don't drink it they'll fine ya!


Bulgaria's an Uncle I knew

Teetotal and tame as a shrew

'Cos I don't know no beer

That originates here

So a womble will have to make do


The Swiss like to eat toblerones

And make clocks with nice cuckoo tones

For the sake of my life,

excepting their knife

I know nothing of those neutral zones


Croatia and Latvia are nations

Which might try anyone's patience

I'm asking you now

Do you know how

Difficult it is in my station?


I've not been to half of these places

Not stuck their beverages down my fat faces

So why did I think

That I might find a link

to this poem on alcohol basis?


One nation has yet to be rhymed

Some depths that I have not yet mined

Without further ado

Or your head in the loo

In Prague my throat will be lined


The Czechs have the pilsner Urquell

Of which a bottle will slip down quite well

I'm telling you this

That Budvar is p**s

And has a tendency to make you unwell


Urquell's the Czech lager for me

Not Staropramen for 150p

Or that Vratislav crap

That Tesco keep back
And use to obtain idiots' money.


That republic's the winner, don't protest

Of the Eurovision drinking contest

And now this limerick crap

all over the map

IS over, as you might have guessed.

Poetry by Egon

Egon

08.07.04 Front Page

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