At The Golden Pig

 Where once with lads I scoffed my beer
 The landlord's lass I've wed.

Now I am lord and master here;--
 Thank God! the old man's dead.

I stand behind a blooming bar
 With belly like a tub,
And pals say, seeing my cigar:
 'Bill's wed a pub.
'

I wonder now if I did well,
 My freedom for to lose;
Knowing my wife is fly as hell
 I mind my 'Ps' and 'Qs'.

Oh what a fuss she made because
 I tweaked the barmaid's bub:
Alas! a sorry day it was
 I wed a pub.


Fat landlord of the Golden Pig,
 They call me 'mister' now;
And many a mug of beer I swig,
 Yet don't get gay, somehow.

So farmer fellows, lean and clean
 Who sweat to earn your grub,
Although you haven't got a bean:
 Don't wed a pub.

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