I’m suff’ring badly from booze
Soon out of my pores it will ooze
The evil Jim Beam
Is not such a dream
And now I’ve been sick in my shoes!!!

Three gins, and two bourbons, one beer
Champagne, some red wine with no peer
Retsina and rum
With Pernod, by gum
My head in the morning, I fear!

You all know I’m not one for fawning
But I wish Arch would start on his yawning
The idiot’s drunk
Should be in his bunk
I’ll laugh at his head in the morning!

(by “Ron, the keyboard from Hell”)

Ron would have been a useful literary construct.
If the word “Literary” can be used anywhere near a limerick!

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