Ho Ho Ho

Bourbon is my staple drink,
Beer comes in close behind,
It depends upon the weather at the time,
And the position in which myself I find.
But sometimes both drinks run out,
And I’m left with what’s near,
And recently this happened to me,
No bourbon, no scotch, no beer.
Kahlua doesn’t do it for me,
Bailey’s not my tipple either,
Port and champagne were also there,
I didn’t really want either.
But nestled at the back of the cabinet,
Filmed delicately in a shroud of dust,
Was some fine aged brandy,
It’s consumption now was a must.
Now, block your ears if you’re offended,
When being over 40 is obscene,
Because some alcoholic beverages,
Make me a sex machine.
So, to cut a long story shorter,
We were soon off to bed,
Thoughts of counting rams and ewes,
Were far from my wretched head.
Charlie said, “This bed smalls like Christmas,”
And I’m far from a dunce,
Replying, “Well, prepare for Santa, baby,
For now all your Christmases will come at once.”