The Old Rose and Crown

Good friends, gather ’round and I’ll tell you a tale;
It’s a story well-known to all lovers of ale;
For the old English pub, once a man’s second home,
Has been decked out, by brewers, in plastic and chrome.

Oh, what has become of the old Rose and Crown,
The Ship, the King’s Arms, and the World Upside-Down?
For oak, brass and leather and a pint of the best
Fade away like the sun as it sinks in the west.

The old oaken bar where the pumps filled your glass
Gives way to Formica and tanks full of gas;
And the landlord behind, once a man of good cheer,
Will just mumble the price as he hands you your beer.

And where are the friends who would meet for a jar
And a good game of darts in the old public bar?
For the dartboard is gone; in its place is a thing
Where you pull on a handle and lose all your tin.

But the worst of it all’s what they’ve done to the beer,
For their shandies and lager will make you feel queer.
For an arm and a leg they will fill up your glass
With a half-and-half mixture of ullage and gas.

So, come all you good fellows that likes to sup ale;
Let’s hope for a happier end to my tale,
For there’s nothing can fill a man’s heart with more cheer
Than to sit in a pub with a pint of good beer.

by Ian Robb.

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