He is a souse, so jack swilt.
He sips on malt,
Which makes him a souse, cause Jack's filt.

He's getting fat
From single malt
Because he's a souse; broad, Jack's built.

Eats a Kit-Kat,
Which makes him fat
Along with malt
Because he's a souse, so Jack spilt.

Sleeps like a log
On his bed of slats
Because he's fat
From sloth and malt
And 'cause he's a souse; arm Jack tilts.

Jack took a vow; yes, he once had sworn
To toss the grog
That makes him grow fat,
Enough of that,
Belay the malt,
Join AA. . .be soused fed Jack's guilt

Jack didn't make it, because corn
Can be distilled and as booze reborn,
Tossed back as grog,
And so, "Down the hatch!"
Though you'll get fat,
But tasty's malt.
"OK, I'm a souse!" More Jack swilt.

Jack's now a man who's tattered and torn
'Cause he's with children of the corn,
Who're cursing the day that they were born,
They're in a fog--
DTs: they see bats
And swat at "gnats"
And guzzle malt
Liquor; these souses with Jack swilt.

Then came a priest, all shriven and shorn,
Who said, "Quit the corn and you'll be reborn,
Each morn, you'll hear Gabriel's horn,
And up in my dorm, you can read gay porn.
So toss that grog;
That's not where it's at,
It makes you fat.
I'd say 'Gevalt!'
But I'm of the house 'The Rock' built
(That is, from the house Peter built").

Then from the sky, there came a big storm
That soaked the priest not shriven 'nuff for 'm.
Thunder, louder than a koncert by Korn
Drowned the sound of Peterbuilt's horn,
Then, like a tortilla made of corn,
The man of god,
He was very flat--
Requiescat.
It's no one's fault;
He weren't even soused. . .then smacked, kilt.

Jack said, "I will throw away the corn,
At least I'm not addicted to porn,
I don't gamble all night, into morn.
That poor priest is the one who heard the horn;
The truck driver's 'Gabriel' born,
And that's ironic, I would've sworn,
But in some blog
I just read that that's
Not where it's at.
No, it is calt
'Coincidence'!!" groused Jack, jack-filt.*


*applejack brandy