Quid's on the Bench

 

It’s a bad habit, to talk some shop,

especially, if we are trying to swap,

a desk, for a welcome bar table,

where we can make, our own labels,

 

by which, I mean, what’s our pub-quiz name?

something funny, sad, or perhaps, profane?

Either or, we’re here, to see what we know,

in such a game, where our harmony grows,

 

I can’t help, but be the scribe,

to write down, what we decide,

of course, in trying, to have open forum,

but such is the talk, of drunken decorum,

   

if a string of wins, is obtained,

then we, will be locally famed,

also disliked, they’ll say, “a fix”,

but our minds, had our Weetabix,

 

if a string of losses, comes our way,

some mini wars, may be in play,

but our hot words, would sure die down,

as we laugh it off, in the town,

 

as, for one night, we lackeys become gods,

the choosers, and not industrial dogs,

but if you, or I, wish to show brain-hench,

we’ve got to make sure, our quid’s on the bench.