Monday, January 16, 2006

Peat Moss

There's a drink that I crave at the end of each day
There's a dram that I want after work
It nestles the nerves in its its own wicked way
But too much makes me act like a jerk

It's brown, and it's smoth, and it tastes of peat moss
A decanter is what I keep mine in
It's perfect to serve to your dad or your boss
Whether a blend or good Bunnahabhain (BOO-na-Hobbin)

Be your troubles so large that you can't sleep at night
Of one thing you may always be sure
Whether your burden is heavy or rather quite light
There's nothing that Scotch cannot cure

3 comments:

  1. Amen to that brother.

    ReplyDelete
  2. Anonymous9:28 AM

    Scotch has yet to cure me of my loathing of scotch. Give me bourbon, my friend.

    ReplyDelete
  3. an ode to scotch... there has never been a better use of space on the internet. ever.

    ReplyDelete

Be compelling.

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