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