Yer man sat in the background

And intended to stay until closin

To him the out of league ladies chatting

Their shoulders remained staunchly frozen

He told tales and complied compliments

As creamy as the pints he drank

And he’d do it not for any reward

He didn’t even want a thanks

And he’ll still spin yarns and stories

Epics that could ne’er be topped

And he will sit, and you’ll hear his wit

Until finally, the chill will stop