Salad Days Vol.#28: Ode to the Green Death

Working the late shift, Friday night,

This was back in the Salad Days, 1980's

Room-mate Myk, was taking a hike,

Asked if there was something I would like,

At the Liquor Store, and just what type,

I said 'any kind, I ain't gonna gripe'

If it's your treat, it cant be bad,

Just leave it in the Fridge back at the pad,

I trust you buddy, it'll be good,

But instead of that I should,

Have said, 'Guiness, Pabst or even Bud',

'My pal', I thought, 'was not a dud',

Alas at the Pad, to my chagrin,

In the ice-box was, when I looked in,

A grisly sight to leave me bereft,

He bought me a six-pack of the ol' 'Green Death'.

Ballantine Ale, jaundiced and pale,

Unpleasant, corpulent and stale,

Nauseating bitter tonic,

Pungeant, vile and vitriolic,

Alac to think I could have drunk,

Another ale that hadn't stunk,

A Michelob, I could have had,

Or Miller High Life, like my Dad,

But because I was not specific,

I suffered consequence horrific,

Instead of amber stout so fine,

I had to choke down Ballantine.

So listen up, you young guns,

And don't repeat what I had done,

When your pal is buying beer,

Make your preferences clear,

As for me, I learned a lesson,

And never again, I am guessin',

Even if there's no Beer left,

I'll pass up on the 'Old Green Death'.