That Pint You Owe Me

Honolulu meets Katmandu. Wherever you go around the world you'll find an Irish pub.

Word Count: 212

Come one, come all, to the shit show pre-Loko
Four fingers play ball, six months after the fall
and it's the seventeeth where some were lost
But what's a fella to do?

I'm your host, I'm the most, won't you tell me?
Danny T said with a beam this dude's cream
like the GOAT but without the Messi beam
goatee with three shines of sheen.

And adiedadeedeeanduhdiedadeedah,
a ramble shackle poguediddiedeedah.
Zepellin's on in the basement, and all he can is Riverdance.
Grip's on the clean-up, crystal glove's clean leopard's shit.

Dirty old town at midnight now the neighbor's calling.
Are y'all alright I hear a bit of a ruckus.
Plus the parking's in front of, our humble abode,
would ya do somthin' bout the children, smokin' da cannabis.

Well Shady's in the closet, underneath the stairs.
And he's whimpering and shivering for fear of the police.
But only Riu awaits, but this is pre-Loko Four.
Pre-Loko Wraith and that's all that can be said.

Staid had waded. Dot wasn't there. Nor a pollic.
Most of the list were VIP's of a death's sentence
meaning they made it to the Banks of America.