There once was a man called Tyler Brown,
Who stood up to his problems by lying down,
For drink was the Demon he regularly sort,
A Story enshrined in many a Court.
From Morning to Night he prayed at the Bar,
To ‘Gordon’s’ and ‘Hennessy’ for the Idols they are,
For life looks Rosie at the bottom of the Glass,
A Bacchanalian feast that he’ll drink to the last.
He’ll be bending his arm with Shot after Shot,
Now the ‘Teenage Dreams’ are distant, forgot,
To haunt the stool by the Mahogany Bar,
And never stray or wander afar.
He’ll be heard at times through the early hours,
His wailing song the Street devours,
To the friendless home and revolving bed,
The Calliope Swirl within the head.
A troubled Night that’s filled with pain,
Keith Moon on drums inside the brain,
To the Morning draught, that ‘Pick Me Up’,
The devil’s brew within the cup.
So what Moral stands in Tyler Brown,
The Gossips darling about the town?
Well the prickly answer is plain to see;
Immerse your days in cups of Tea.