There was a man I knew quite well
Who never shaved his chin.
He also let his hair grow and
He loved his evening gin.
The townsfolk there who knew him
Thought him kind and honest.
"Although he's sorta weird," they'd say,
"He really ain't no pest."
And so the town was sure surprised
The day he got so drunk
And staggered down the mall and told
The Mayor he was a punk.
"Look here!" the Mayor cried, quite aghast,
"You haven't got the right
To call me names. And look at you!
You're such a drunken sight.
"Now I'll excuse you if you go
Home and go straight to bed.
But if you cause more trouble, then
I'll truly have your head."
Now this old man, he wasn't one
To take things lightly, no.
He'd had his feathers ruffled, and
He'd bargained for a show.
"Says you!" he shouted drunkenly
And sucked in a fresh breath.
"Go home to what, a week from now?
My home's been marked for death.
"You think I'm dumb and haven't heard
Your plan to build a road
Straight through the place my house sits now
And run me out, you Toad?
"Where do you think I'll go from there?
Perhaps you'd let me die.
Well, here I'll stay, so take me thus
Or lock me in your sty."
"Harumph!" the Mayor said, turning red.
He hadn't thought of that.
So now the whole town thought of him
As some ungainly rat.
"Alright, alright," he acquiesced.
"Well now, you've had your say.
If you'll forgive me and go home,
I'll stop this plan today."
The drunk, he smiled triumphantly
And turned his back to go.
With head held high and chest erect,
He staggered home real slow.