Good brew, it seems to me,
isn’t rife with naught but gas
and don’t taste like water mostly—
on that type I’ll take a pass.
What pours out of the tun
oughta go so smoothly down
and be tangy and have body,
not like this swill of renown.

Vile is crap Miller High Life, brew sin—
worse than Coors is Miller Time, but both are weak and thin.
Vile is crap Miller High Life, [es]chew binge.
I won’t buy after once I tried it. . .won’t give in.

Yeah, why drink that crap; it’s one ghastly
beverage that’s so nasty.
Can’t get tight ’cause of the wee
alcohol percent within.

This brew’s far from the best. . .
called High Life ironic’lly.
But there’s lots of this swill out there. . .
kinda like what one would pee.
I pass on Miller Time—
it’s rancid; swigging it’s no fun.
Once I had a bad time chuggin’ it;
after that I was done. . .

“Bye” to crap Miller High Life; begin
did I yore, but just one time: I’d opened the cap spin.
“Bye” to crap Miller High Life; within
it caused me to blow my lunch, and later my din-din.

Yeah, why drink that crap; it’s one nasty
beverage that’s so ghastly.
From my sight this shite must flee,
crap Miller High Life and kin.