This Bastard goes on a wild spree of cheap plonk,
At night he wildly engages in a bonk–
Huffing and puffing, he would give a loud honk,
Thereafter, sickenly stoned out, he will conk!
And Bastard will rise early to go and seek
The devilish wine that just renders him weak:
He’d then come home staggering, with a strong reek
Of cheap Moss,* so tipsy and sheepishly meek!
And blasted! He’d be the repeat of fail’d love:
He’d fumble with his limp and unerect stick, move
Like a listless soldier on th’ drill: ‘Drunken Love!’
*Moss, a homemade brew