There was a young man who loved Schlitz
Which he drank in his room at the Ritz
With pate (very rich)
And olives from which
His servants had cut out the pits.
There was a young man who loved Pabst
He drank it until he collapsed
He gave up beer
For Lent every year
And on Easter morning, relapsed.
There was a young man who loved Millers
More than all other painkillers
He drank secretly
In a dark shadowy
Doorway hidden by pillars.
There was a young man who loved Blatz
He drank it straight out of the vats
Along with a platter
Of vegetable matter
And another of animal fats.
