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! 

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