Making Licorice
Freeze the Greek rabarber
And break out the almanac
We're making licorice
to break the ancient pact!
We've had too many sweets
As our knees have gotten weak
From sitting, sex and Osgood-Schlatter
We laugh, but week by week get fatter
Take care of the olives: they bite
As we press the season,
The session IPA's on sale
So can your fruity flavours
get us through the night?
Take the total war and cherish
The warmth of winter's here
The poor people's parish press
Tells truly: there is nothing to fear
We've had a date too many
Our packs gone back to fannies
For smuggling and outfits
With nonfunctional pockets
And unnecessary zips
Yes you, Newman! You!